


No Sign of Love

by asecretchord



Series: The Genesis of Harry [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asecretchord/pseuds/asecretchord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outed by the <i>Daily Prophet</i>, Harry escapes the Wizarding World and ends up on the streets. Desperate and in fear for his life, he Apparates to 'somewhere safe' and winds up in the entryway of the last person he expected to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sign of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrae/gifts).



> Warnings: Mention and dreams of rape, brief description of sado-masochistic sexual practices and BDSM lifestyle, mentions of double penetration, wide-scale homophobia, hurt/comfort, mild angst, self-loathing, and yet, for all that, it's a bit of a romance as well.
> 
> This is a work of fiction and is not meant to be representative of anyone's world views. The story is as the characters told it to me. All mistakes are my own.

Moving along the sidewalk and clinging to shadows, Harry Potter made his way to the narrow alley where the rubbish bins were stored. The theatres at the National would be emptying soon, disgorging their audiences in a flood that would sweep along the South Bank before spilling into the Underground. If he could just find something to eat—a half-eaten sandwich from Eats or a forgotten takeaway box from Wagamama—he'd be set for the night and could head for home.

He started his nightly forage through the garbage and sighed in relief when he found, early on, an entire apple. Merlin alone knew why it had been discarded; whoever had done had enough food to fill his belly. But beggars couldn't be choosers and, though Harry didn’t beg, he couldn't afford to be choosy either.

After twenty minutes, he'd managed to salvage a half-eaten bag of crisps, a stale scone and a soggy egg and watercress sandwich that he hoped wouldn't poison him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd eaten something that had started to go bad.

He slipped the food into the battered backpack that contained everything he owned and headed towards Waterloo station, skirting the IMAX theatre pathway to brave the busy streets instead. He'd been jumped there, twice, and had no intention of allowing a third time.

Home was a narrow footpath not far from one of the many churches that dotted central London. It was fairly sheltered and, when it rained, he only got a little bit wet. In the three months he'd been sleeping in that spot, he'd not been discovered once, but he always made certain to leave no sign of his presence. He'd learnt caution in his three years on the streets.

It was a warm evening and, after slowly devouring that night's findings, he curled up in his little corner and went to sleep using his backpack for a pillow.

The next day began like the one before, and the one before that, and the one before that. Waking near dawn, Harry erased the evidence of his stay, shouldered his pack and walked into the sun, looking for another church he hadn't visited yet. Unless it was one of the cathedrals, most of them pretended not to mind him using the toilet. On the days when he had more than three coins in his pocket, he always left one, if only to assuage his guilt.

Daytime was always worse somehow. Most of the people he encountered pretended he was invisible, looking through him as he passed by. The ones who took notice either crossed the street to avoid him or decided they needed to be someplace else, as though he came with his own Muggle-repelling charm. The police made certain he kept moving, resting on benches only long enough to avoid attracting their attention.

He didn't exist—at least, not on paper—so he didn't qualify for public assistance. There was no record of his birth, he had no permanent address and no Muggle identification, so finding work was all but impossible. Every once in awhile he was given some thankless task that earned him a few quid, which allowed him the luxury of soap, water and fresh food, but those days were few and far between.

Early June heralded the advent of tourist season, and Harry kept as far away from the popular spots as practicable. He couldn't avoid them entirely, as he was far more likely to find dropped change and forgotten parcels if he hung about the fringes. He hated himself every time he rifled through a discovered shopping bag, but he tried to take only what he needed to survive.

Making his way to the South Bank past the Tate Modern, Harry found himself not far from London Bridge, an area he tended to avoid. It wasn't bad, per se, but he was never quite as comfortable there as in other parts of the City. The breezeways were isolated, and the few people he came across always seemed vaguely threatening. Still, from there he could watch the river and immerse himself in memories of days when he had a soft bed and clean clothes and all the food he could eat.

It was a moment's inattention that cost him. After crossing the river, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk along a quiet street to remove his denim jacket and shove it in his backpack. He never saw the skateboard that connected with the back of his skull, but he felt it well enough, as he did the booted feet that slammed into his ribs.

While they—it was always they—were busy rifling through his meagre belongings, he crawled away, managing to pull himself to his feet with the assistance of a nearby wall. Dizzy and deciding not to make a run for it, Harry watched from a safe distance as his few articles of clothing and assorted mementos were carelessly thrown aside.

"There's nowt else in here," one of them complained, tossing the empty backpack aside. As if to punish Harry for his poverty, they circled him before the fists started flying.

Hopelessly outnumbered and in fear for his life, Harry did the only thing he could do—turned on the spot and vanished, wishing only that he could find someplace safe

Harry reappeared with a scream, clutching a right arm that was now hanging on by a tendon. Blood poured over his hand, pooling on the smooth wood floor under his feet. He took one very shaky step forward before collapsing to his knees. A high-pitched shriek filled his ears, and he looked up to see blonde hair so yellow that it screamed too

"Help me," he whispered, and then the world went black.

* * * * * *

Snape held the pieces of Harry's arm together as he speared his assistant with a glance. "Nia, ring Draco—his number is in my diary—and ask him for the recipe for Green Fire. I expect I'll want one when all is said and done."

The neon-yellow tips of Nia's jet-black hair danced as she gave a sharp nod of her head. Dressed in a black leather corset and a skirt that was too short by half, Nia had nevertheless proven to be a godsend, especially in emergencies. Her painted black lips stretched in what Snape supposed was a grimace; after six months he still wasn't certain. She vanished through a discreet doorway, glancing back at the widening pool of blood.

Once the coast was clear, Snape pulled his wand and murmured the most powerful healing charm he knew, then picked Harry up in his arms and carried him up the stairs and into his private quarters. After laying him on the bed, he lit the fireplace in his room and began to pace. "Idiot child. What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

A few minutes later, the fire burst into emerald green flame and Draco stepped calmly through, brushing off the miniscule bits of ash that managed to cling to his robes. "'Green Fire' is a drink now?"

"I can't very well have Nia ask you to Floo over." The 'you imbecile' went unspoken. "I require your assistance," said Snape, though by that time Draco was already standing next to Snape's wrought iron bed and staring at the pile of rags in horror.

"Merlin's balls, Severus," he gasped, "that's Potter. What the hell happened to him?" He pulled his wand and started casting spells.

"Splinched," replied Snape succinctly.

Draco pulled himself to his full height, lip curled in scorn. "I'm a Healer, not an idiot. Splinching himself is the least of his problems. He's barely nine stone, dehydrated, malnourished, has a moderate concussion, bruised ribs and he's filthy." Draco made it sound as though this last was the worst of Harry's sins.

"You do know he's been missing for the last couple of years, right?" he asked as he worked on repairing Harry's arm. "Get his clothes off would you, while I see to this? Not with magic. Merlin, he's a mess."

Snape began with Harry's trainers, worn through the bottom with part of the sole missing. The socks he removed were more holes than not, and he wondered why Harry bothered. His jeans were relatively clean, though nearly as worn as his footwear, but when he peeled them off it became obvious that Harry hadn't bathed in weeks.

"Christ, Sev, he's got lice," announced Draco in disgust. He shook his head, unable to comprehend how Harry Potter had fallen so far. "You'll want to burn everything, including your bedding. You can't let it spread through here."

Snape disappeared through a doorway and returned moments later with long-bladed silver scissors that sliced easily through Harry's flannel shirt and cotton undershirt. Together, they eased the remains of the garment off Harry's body, paying particular attention to his damaged arm.

While Draco finished up, Snape gathered Harry's clothing, Banished his shoes and tossed everything else on the fire. "Provide me with a list of potions you require," he said, mindlessly poking at it as he watched the flames lap at the pile.

"Rehydrant, Nutrient Potion, Headache Remedy, Bruise Balm, and I want him kept asleep for three days. Oh, and whatever will kill the stuff that's crawling all over him." Draco's nose wrinkled and he shuddered. "Is there somewhere we can bathe him? Ordinarily I'd give him a sponge bath but he really needs to soak. That grunge is caked on."

"Contrary to the opinion expressed by your former housemates, Draco, I do bathe regularly. The bathroom is through that archway." Snape gestured at what appeared to be a hallway, but was instead the entrance to a hedonist's paradise.

Underneath a set of bay windows that overlooked the Heath below was a deep Roman tub inlaid with mosaic tiles of green, black and silver, which formed a pattern of interlocking serpents. Along three sides ran a bench seat; in the corner, three steps led down to the bottom. To the right of the tub was a glass surround that served as a shower, with a showerhead as big as a dinner plate. On the left was a small sauna that might easily hold four people. Thick, black towels hung from iron rods placed below flickering wall sconces. The ceiling was mirrored.

Draco turned the faucets to draw a bath, then returned to the bedroom. "Decadent much, Severus? Not even my parents have a room like that." He came up beside Harry and stood watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. "I think we're going to have to get in there with him."

Snape arched a brow. "Are you expecting me to be distressed by this? Consider the nature of my profession, Draco. Remember what it is I do." He sat on the foot of the bed and unzipped his boots before setting nimble fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt cuffs.

Pulling the white silk peasant shirt over his head—months of experimentation had taught him that was what his clientele preferred he wear—he began unlacing the flies of his snug black trousers. He glanced up to see Draco staring out a window. "Unless you're planning to wear your robes in the bath, I suggest you remove them."

Draco snorted. "Ghastly colour, this," he muttered as he unclasped the fastenings and shrugged out of them. "I can't imagine who would have thought this a good idea." He untied his boots, glancing at Snape's as he weighed the relative merits of zippers over laces.

"It was decided over four hundred years ago and the colour allows someone in need to find a Healer to assist them. Get over yourself."

"You've been in Muggle London too long."

"And we both know why I'm here," said Snape as he set his clothes aside and donned a short dressing gown. While Draco finished swanning about, he rang down to the front. "Nia, please ask Seth to come up to my room and change the linens. Yes, the boy bled all over everything. It's a bit of a mess, actually. No, no, he'll be fine. Just needs a bit of rest, poor thing. A few days flat on his back. Yes, biohazard disposal, probably best to incinerate it. Ta, darling."

He turned to find Draco staring. "If I hadn't heard it with my own ears, I'd never have believed it. Merlin, Sev. Elton John's not that gay."

Snape's brow furrowed. "How do you know Elton John?"

"I work in wizarding London; I live in a very nice flat in South Kensington that in no way, shape or form resembles a cave. I have friends, believe it or not, and we have been known upon occasion to set foot inside of nightclubs where, every once in awhile, someone gets nostalgic for the 'good old days' and plays a few sets of what is commonly referred to as Classic Rock." With that, Draco stepped out of his briefs and set his wand on the bedside table.

"I'll carry him. You get what we'll need: soap, plenty of flannels, shampoo." He glanced at Harry's matted hair. "Maybe we should just cut it instead."

Snape fingered the filthy mess and grimaced. "I have everything required. Try not to drown him or yourself getting him in there. If you don't think you can manage alone, wait for me. I won't be but a moment." He paused. "This is not the time for petty revenge, Draco," he warned.

Lifting Harry gently, Draco took a few steps towards the bathroom, and then paused. "I'm not that person any more, Severus. I haven't been for years. I know what I'm doing and I'll take good care of him." He glanced down at the emaciated figure in his arms. "Harry Potter deserves better than this."

The world had not stopped spinning; the Law of Gravity was still in effect, but Snape was certain he'd entered some alternate reality where Draco Malfoy had just paid some small respect to the Boy-Who-Barely-Lived. "Yes, he does."

It took Snape a couple of trips downstairs and a full assault on a credenza cabinet, but eventually he had everything Draco required, including a straight-edged razor and thick shaving cream. Hanging his short dressing gown on a hook, he stepped into the bath and slid through the water to the corner where Draco was propped with Harry in his arms.

Washing away the encrusted dirt revealed just how poorly Harry was doing. His body was littered with open sores, several of them oozing now that they were no longer covered with a layer of grime. "I have some salve that will heal those," Snape said into the quiet. For a time, the only sound had been the raining of water off the flannel as Severus lifted it out of the bath, but his words seemed to loosen their tongues.

"Did you know he'd gone missing, Sev?" Draco asked once they'd turned Harry over and started washing his back. "You never said, and I got sidetracked by the lice."

"No, I've not kept up with your world. I imagined he'd married that Weasley girl and had half a dozen gingers by now. As I understand it, he was going to join the Auror Corps with the Weasley boy once all the trials and hearings were completed. Once I was exonerated, posthumously I might add, I left and never looked back."

"I know you're still brewing. St Mungo's gets a few specialised potions from you every now and then." When Snape said nothing, Draco pressed on. "I know your handwriting, and you're likely the only one in wizarding Britain able to make them." 

"They asked and they pay handsomely. That's why I have this." Snape waved his hand around and shrugged. "The business pays well, but the potions allow me to enjoy a few luxuries now and then."

"Such as?"

"Such as front row tickets to see Elton John."

"You're obsessed," scoffed Draco.

"Hardly, I've been twice. What?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes as Draco bent over Harry and impatiently smoothed his long blond hair back so he could take a closer look at something.

Grey eyes met Snape's and held them steadily. "Anal fissure. There's some tearing..."

Snape nodded. "Not unexpected. His diet likely has been abysmal. We keep some salve on hand for problems such as this. I'll take care of it."

Draco ran wet fingers through damp hair. "You'd be amazed at what they don't teach us in the Healer's programme. Not a word about homosexuality or the attendant issues therein. Nothing about 'deviant' lifestyles. They do teach us how babies are made, but we got that in our third year at Hogwarts. You were more informative."

"I was also Head of Slytherin House. Why Salazar chose a snake as his mascot is beyond me. It should have been a rabbit." Snape picked up the scissors and started cutting away at Harry's hair, trimming it as short as he dared. "We'll burn that as well."

Before long, there was a pile of dark, tangled hair that, even off of Harry's head, refused to lay flat. Picking up a squat brush with short bristles, Snape swirled it through a small bowl of thick, white goo that smelt vaguely of sandalwood and smeared it over Harry's head. He lifted the straight-edge razor, freshly sharpened, and set the blade against Harry's scalp.

"You have done this before, right?" Draco asked a bit nervously. "His hair is probably short enough without shaving his head."

Snape's lips narrowed. "To be perfectly honest, no, I've not done _this_ before," he said, gesturing at the cream-covered scalp in front of him. "Though I have shaved any number of cocks and bollocks without bloodshed, so I imagine I'll be able to leave the boy a fair bit of skin."

"Now there's a mental image I didn't need," muttered Draco, but he watched in rapt fascination as, bit by bit, Harry's head was shaved smooth, not a nick or cut to mar the pale skin.

"Might as well get the rest of it," Snape decided after he rinsed the last little bits of shaving cream off. "I've no idea if he's got lice elsewhere, or crabs for that matter."

"Crabs?"

" _Pthirus pubis_ , or pubic lice." Lifting Harry's hips out of the water, Snape inspected him carefully. "No, he's fine. Let's get him out, dry him off and put him to bed. He needs potions and sleep."

* * * * * *

"I did some checking like you asked," said Draco a few days later as he made himself at home in Snape's sitting room. He leaned back in his chair and stared mindlessly into his cognac as he spoke. "I didn't have enough time to be as thorough as I would have liked, but I think I have enough to piece together."

"With whom have you spoken?" asked Snape, corking the bottle of single malt and sinking into the corner of the sofa. "I can't imagine any of his former crowd would be very forthcoming, especially considering how well you got on with them." He propped his feet up on the low table in front of him, crossing them at the ankle.

Draco took an experimental sip of his drink. "Very nice," he remarked. "You'd be surprised, actually. The Weasel wouldn't give me the time of day—"

"With an attitude like that I would think not," drawled Snape.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Neither would Granger, even when I mentioned I had some information about Potter.”

Snape pulled his feet down and leant forward, his glass dangling precariously from his fingertips as he rested his elbows on his knees. His eyes narrowed and he asked, "They had a falling-out then? There's more to it than Potter's stiff-necked pride?"

"Did you see the same Harry Potter that I did?" demanded Draco. "The one who weighs about as much as a cocktail umbrella? The one with lice and open sores, and who'd had the shit kicked out of him? Do you honestly believe Potter would let himself reach such a state if he felt he'd had a choice in matter?"

The passion in Draco's voice surprised Snape, but Harry's arrival had heralded the reawakening of a myriad of emotions he believed had been safely buried. "You are correct, of course," Snape acknowledged. "Please continue."

Draco took a sip of the cognac, savouring it before he said, "Save your questions 'til I've told you what I learnt." He held Snape's gaze until his former professor gave him a curt nod. 

"Very well. First of all, you're safe, Severus. No one I spoke with suspects you're alive. I've been telling those idiot Gryffindors that I'm bound by medical ethics not to reveal any information, but that I would let them know if I find Harry should circumstances allow." His grey eyes grew pensive for a moment. "I've left them with the impression that I'm treating someone with information about Harry, not that I'm treating Harry himself."

"Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, though don't discount Gryffindor ingenuity. They have a knack for connecting seemingly unrelated dots."

"Indeed. In fact, I'm nearly positive that Longbottom put most of it together before we were halfway through, and if he didn't, I’m sure that Luna did."

"Luna?" Snape's brow furrowed, the name not springing to mind.

"Lovegood. She was a year behind me in Ravenclaw."

"How could I have forgotten? Strangely brilliant in her own way."

"Frighteningly intuitive," Draco agreed. "They're married now. Longbottom's teaching Herbology and is well regarded at Hogwarts. Luna is…I have no idea, actually. She talks to plants. Who knows? But she seems to know something about everybody. She sends her regards, by the way."

Snape's eyebrows drew together. "I thought you said I was safe." The lines of his face fell into an impenetrable mask as he scrutinised Draco. "I have built a nice life for myself here. The club is profitable, I do not lack for…" he paused delicately, "companionship and while you might peer down your purebred nose at the manner in which I live my life, I remind you that it is _my_ life and I am no longer answerable to any of you for it."

Draco was singularly unimpressed with the diatribe. "Luna sends her regards, should I happen to cross paths with you again. She lost me halfway through her ramblings, but it appears she believes that Slytherins share some strange telepathic connection." He sipped at his drink, arching a brow as he spoke, and for a moment Snape was powerfully reminded of Lucius. "Are you ready to listen now? Or would you like to unleash another warrantless tirade first?"

"You are not nearly as amusing as you believe yourself to be," replied Snape with an audible sniff.

Draco laughed. "Yes I am, and you know it." He leant forward, brow furrowed. "I don't know if Mother told you, but I went to France not long after you left the Manor. I needed to do something to prove that being a Malfoy didn't mean I was a power-hungry, self-centred git like everyone believed, but no one would have me. I cut myself off from wizarding Britain when I went and started their Healer's Programme. As a result, much of what I learnt was news to me."

Snape nodded. "Go on."

For a moment Draco’s eyes grew distant, and he frowned as he recalled his conversations with more Gryffindors than he could count. "First of all, Mr and Mrs Weasley and the two oldest are worried sick about Harry. They've not heard from him since before he vanished. Apparently, his disappearance has caused a bit of schism within the family. Weasel, his sister and the middle one—Perry?—want nothing more to do with Potter. George—he's the one who lived, right?—is lost in his own world, but the rest of them want Potter to return.

"From what I understand, Potter was given a pass into the Auror Corps right after the war. It's hard to find candidates with better credentials than defeating a Dark Lord, but Harry washed out. Most of the other cadets thought he was indestructible or something and had no compunction about hexing him during training. After his third trip to St Mungo's in as many months, he resigned.

"After that, he applied and was accepted to the Healer's Programme at St Mungo's, even though he didn't have the N.E.W.T.s required. He began the programme and by all accounts was doing quite well, but word got out that he was working on his qualifications and the hospital was besieged by witches hoping to score a date with The Chosen One. Despite half the staff begging him to reconsider, he left that programme as well.

"From there he went to work in the publicity department for Pride of Portree, but the team manager started receiving death threats, as Potter was in the stands rather than on the pitch."

"Let me guess," interrupted Snape with a sigh. "Potter left again."

"Precisely. From there he went to Hogwarts and stayed at the castle for a short time." Draco sighed and raked his hand through his hair, a habit he'd developed while studying medicine. "From what Longbottom tells me, he asked for a job, any job, but the school year had just begun and McGonagall had nothing to offer him. He says she would have allowed him to stay for as long as he wanted, but he refused. Didn't want to be a charity case." He stared into his nearly empty snifter and shook his head. "I knew he was stubborn; I didn't know he was foolish to the point of self-destruction.

"Anyway, he bounced around Diagon Alley for awhile, working at Honeydukes, Flourish and Blotts, Eyelops, Quality Quidditch Supplies, and he even managed to last half a day at Fortescue's. Every single time his adoring public managed to drive him off or have him sacked for creating a nuisance. He tried, Severus. He really tried."

Snape frowned. "Mere unemployment wouldn't disentangle him from the clutches of Weasley and Granger. What happened to drive a wedge between them?"

"Granger and Weasley were married," replied Draco succinctly.

"A romantic triangle?" Snape's laughter was cynical, mocking. "Potter left the wizarding world because of a broken heart?" He snorted inelegantly through his nose. "I was under the impression that he and the redoubtable Ms. Weasley were to be wed."

"That's apparently what the Weaslette believed as well." Draco appeared troubled. "Potter'd been dating her half-heartedly since sixth year. When he couldn't hold a job, he postponed their wedding until his circumstances stabilised. From what I've been told, that was cause for some relief amongst the older Weasleys. Meanwhile, the Weaslette made reserve Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies while Potter bounced from job to job. Then Weasel and Granger got hitched."

"Using their names would be ever so much more helpful."

"Fine. Ronald and Ginevra, though to be clear, Ronald did not marry his sister. Anyway, Potter was best man, no surprise there. Lovely wedding from all accounts; loads of press: the _Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, The Quibbler_ , the WWN. With two Order of Merlin recipients, First Class, plus a third as a member of the wedding party, it's the wedding of the season, for all it was Granger and Weasley's." It was clear that Draco's ruling class sensibilities were highly offended.

Draco leant forward, a cold fire burning in his light grey eyes. "Granger should have squashed that Skeeter woman when she had the chance. She covered the wedding and destroyed Potter the next day."

"What happened?"

"Do you remember Oliver Wood?"

"Yes," Snape replied slowly. "A thoroughly unremarkable Gryffindor with a penchant for Quidditch. Never paid attention to anything unless it resembled a Quaffle. If memory serves, he was captain of the Quidditch team the year Potter became Seeker."

Draco refused to rise to the bait. "Yes, I am well aware that Potter played on his House team during his first year.”

Snape sighed. “You used to be easier to wind up. Anyway, what did the delightful Ms Skeeter have to report? Was Ginevra found in a compromising position with the delightful Mr Wood?"

"No," Draco replied bluntly. "But Potter was. I found the issues in the _Prophet_ archives."

Snape sat bolt upright, his head whipping around to gaze sharply at his bedroom door, confronted with a mystery that hadn't existed a moment ago. "Explain," he ordered in his most commanding tone.

For a moment Draco felt like he'd been catapulted back in time to face his Head of House for having committed some infraction or another. He wiped sweaty palms on his thighs and met Snape's gaze head on. "The headline was almost tasteful," he said slowly. "'Boy-Who-Lived Seduces Quidditch Star' and underneath a photograph of Potter performing fellatio on Wood. And there were more in the back pages of them kissing and hugging. Potter looked enraptured, but Wood...." Draco's face darkened, and there was a fury in it that he hadn't shown in years.

"It would come as no surprise to learn that Wood had been paid to ruin Potter." Draco sighed. "Perhaps it's merely the lessons of a lifetime. Wood...there was something hard and ugly in his eyes, but Merlin, Severus, I can't see what he had to gain by ruining Harry. He's starting Keeper for Kensmere and reserve Keeper for England. He's a good-looking bloke and bloody rich to boot. _Witch Weekly_ ’s Most Eligible Bachelor contest can't be that much of an incentive, can it?"

"I've no idea," growled Snape shortly. "Continue."

"Harry admitted to being queer and barricaded himself inside of Grimmauld Place to avoid the press. For some reason he left there almost immediately and made his way to Knockturn Alley. No reputable establishment would take him on, and he wouldn't accept employment at the disreputable ones. He showed up at Gringotts a couple of days later and tried to withdraw some funds from his vault, but he was run out of the bank before he could access it. That was the last anyone saw of him until he showed up here."

Snape's lip curled into a sneer, his blood boiling. "And Wood? What became of the other part of the triangle?"

Draco's expression turned feral. "Wood claimed he'd succumbed to Potter's advances so that Harry would stop harassing him. He denied being attracted to men in general and Potter specifically. Still denies it, actually. The Quidditch league married him off to the sister of one of the Wasps Chasers. Gretna Green wedding, very hush-hush. His wife just had a baby, though there are rumours it's not Wood's."

It had been years since Snape felt the lack of a wand, but his fingers twitched as his mind ran through a catalogue of curses that he would delight in unleashing upon Wood, Granger and the youngest Weasleys. Oh, the poisons he could prepare, the hexes he could hurl. "There is not a hole deep enough..." His eyes widened in surprise as he realised he had spoken the thought aloud. Dumbledore had almost had it right: he had not grown to _care_ for the boy, he'd grown to love him—and it was a secret he planned to carry to the grave.

Draco unfolded long legs and crossed the room to refill their glasses. "A thought that has crossed my mind any of number of times. They're all responsible for this, Severus. Granger, Weasley, Wood, Skeeter. Christ, the entire wizarding world did this to him, and those of us who didn't dirty our hands just sat back and let it happen." Draco handed Snape his glass, then paced through the room with his robes fluttering behind him.

"Why do you care, Draco?" asked Snape after a healthy swallow of whiskey. "I can count on one hand the number of queer wizards you know and frankly I find it rather difficult to imagine that you give a damn about any one of us."

Draco turned, his eyes hard as stone. "Do you honestly believe I have no idea what it's like to be publicly reviled? To have doors slammed shut in my face? I'm a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. I can trace my lineage back to the time of Arthur and Merlin, for all the good it does me now.

"Malfoys have been members of the Wizengamot for centuries. We have been landholders and councillors at the highest levels of government, but my father pissed it all away to follow the delusions of a madman. 

"Lucius could have been Minister of Magic instead of Fudge, but instead he became one of the very first Death Eaters. I was Marked on my sixteenth birthday with the understanding that it was my ticket to the very highest reaches of society. Wealth, power, influence—all mine if I bowed down and accepted the Dark Lord as my liege.

"Then Harry Potter walked into the Forbidden Forest and gave up his life for every fucking one of us. And we repaid his selflessness by ostracising him. Do you think I give a flying fuck whose bed he sleeps in?" His eyes narrowed. "What's going to become of him after he's healthy again?"

"What are you implying, Draco?" Snape bit out. "That I would turn him out to fend for himself?"

"There's not exactly any love lost between you," said Draco grimly.

"You know nothing." Snape frowned and gazed at his bedroom again. "He's welcome to stay for as long as he likes. I have ample space and could use another pair of hands to keep the club running smoothly."

Draco studied Snape for a long time, as though trying to understand this new person who'd joined the Muggle world of his own accord, and who was now taking under his wing someone he had once loathed with every ounce of energy he'd possessed. "I'd like to examine him, if I may. Has he spent any time awake?"

"He has stirred a few times, once long enough to have some water, but he didn't seem to know where he was. Nor do I believe that he recognised me."

"Very well." Setting his drink on the mantel, Draco headed directly to Snape's bedroom. As he walked through the door, he conducted a mental review of Harry's status and compared it to what he expected to find. A full head of messy black hair was not on the list.

"What the...what did you give him, Severus?"

"Nothing that wasn't prescribed, I assure you," Snape replied. "By the time I awoke the next morning all of his hair had grown back. Just like magic. His sleep is restless, but I understand it always has been."

"And you would know this how?"

"Use your brain, Draco," replied Snape in his typical biting tone. "At one point in your young life it showed considerable promise. I brewed for Hogwarts. I knew who had been given my potions and why. Potter took more Dreamless Sleep and Sleeping Draught than all of Hufflepuff House put together."

"I meant, are you sleeping in here with him?" Somehow, Draco had trouble meeting Snape's eyes when he asked and he grew angry with himself for it.

Snape regarded him steadily. "I do not believe that is what you meant at all. Yes, I am sleeping with him. As you can see, the bed is quite large, and there is more than enough room for both of us. In addition, it allows me to tend to him using what little magic I allow myself without worrying that someone will take note of it. If you meant anything else, then I'm afraid I will have to ask you to remove yourself from my home."

"You're right," admitted Draco stiffly. "I did mean are you sharing your bed with him, but," he looked up, his pale grey eyes piercing, "I did not intend to insinuate anything beyond that. He's unconscious, for fuck's sake. Shall I take my leave of you then?"

Weighing everything he knew of Draco and the prejudices with which he had been raised against all that he had overcome to regain some small measure of esteem, Snape found himself shaking his head. "No. I confess I am unable to treat Potter without your assistance."

"From my House to yours, my most humble and abject apologies," said Draco before bowing, his hands at his sides, his head dipped low.

"On behalf of my House, I accept your apology." Snape replied with a nod of his head. "And now that we've dispensed with all that nonsense, what can you tell me about Potter's condition?"

"Give me a moment," said Draco in hushed tones. He started casting the normal series of diagnostic charms as Snape focussed his considerable attention on Harry.

There was a subtle shift in breathing and a tension in Harry's face that hadn't been there a moment before. So, he was awake, then. Or at least aware. Snape jerked his head toward the still figure and arched a brow at Draco. "And? How is he doing?" he asked, just as quietly.

"Not as well as I had hoped. He's still dangerously weak and his magical stores are nearly non-existent." Draco had just begun to wave his wand in a new pattern when Harry's eyes snapped open.

Before they could react, Harry darted for the small space between them, fighting for his freedom like a trapped animal. As he lurched off the bed, he got tangled up in the sheets and fell in a heap at their feet. Harry looked up at Snape, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he fainted.

"Christ on a fucking cracker," muttered Draco as Snape scooped Harry up off the floor and tucked him back in bed. "Well, that was about the last thing he needed." He took up station on Harry's left side as Snape sat on Harry's right to prevent him from trying that again.

A few minutes later, Harry's eyes fluttered open and he glanced around, his eyes wide and unfocussed. "Where am I?" he murmured in a voice thick from sleep.

"You are in my home, Mr Potter," said Snape in a low and soothing voice very unlike the spiteful, spitting tone he had once taken with Harry. "In my bed, to be specific, where you have spent the past few days recovering."

Harry slowly pushed himself up and rubbed his fingers hard over his temples. Confusion wreathed his face, and it was clear he was struggling to make sense of it all. He turned his head and met Snape's gaze, and Snape saw the moment the dots connected in Harry's head.

"You're dead," Harry said evenly before the words registered. "Oh, Merlin, you're dead! _You're dead!_ I saw you die!" A mask of fury dropped over his face and he looked for the world like he wanted to lunge at Snape. But he could only fall back against the pillow, breathing heavily and blinking back hot tears as he shot arrows at Snape with his eyes.

"I saw you die," said Harry once more, his voice rough with years of stored grief. He turned onto his side and curled up in a ball, face drawn with exhaustion.

On instinct, Snape's hand came up and stroked softly over Harry's head, petting him gently. "I very nearly did," he said. "Were it not for Lucius, a pair of house-elves and Draco's single-minded determination that I live, I would not be here today. But that is a story for another time."

"Harry, I need you to lie flat so I can finish my examination."

Flinching at the sound of Draco's voice, Harry risked a quick glance at Snape before turning his attention to the business end of Draco's wand, wariness showing in every line of his body. He turned panicked eyes back to Snape and whispered, "Why is he here?"

Surprised that Harry believed Draco to be more of a threat than himself, Snape gave a nod to Draco, inviting him to explain.

"After Hogwarts," Draco said quietly, "and after I was absolved by the Wizengamot due to your testimony, I went to university in France. I came home about a year ago and went to work at St Mungo's." His eyes were sombre. "Severus requested my help when you showed up in his entry way."

"You're a Healer?"

Indignation flashed in Draco's silver eyes at the disbelief in Harry's tone, but it disappeared almost immediately. An air of resignation settled around him as he prepared to fight, once again, to overcome the prejudices that still accompanied the name 'Malfoy'. "Yes, fully qualified, though still a junior member of the staff."

"I thought you brought me here," said Harry, looking up at Draco in confusion.

Both Draco and Snape shook their heads. "You Apparated into my entryway, Splinched nearly in two, blood everywhere. You were holding onto your right arm, which was barely attached, and begged for help before you collapsed. Unnerved Nia, poor thing."

"Poor thing?" Harry repeated dumbly. "Did you just say 'poor thing'?" His brow furrowed and he looked to Draco for an explanation.

"Yes, that is Severus Snape. Yes, he did just say 'poor thing'. No, you are not having hallucinations. This is real, Potter," Draco assured him.

A wan smile appeared on Harry's face. "You know, if you'd used my name I wouldn't have believed you." He blinked and rubbed one eye. "I don't suppose my glasses are around here anywhere," he asked hopefully.

Wearing matching expressions, Snape and Draco exchanged a look. "You were already up here by the time I got here and I don't recall seeing them anywhere," replied Draco slowly.

"Nor do I. Perhaps Nia has them tucked away somewhere." Snape picked up a telephone and pressed several buttons. "Hello, darling. Yes, the poor boy is awake. He is enquiring about his glasses, wire-rimmed if I recall them properly. Have you seen them? No, I'll wait." He covered the receiver and said, "She's looking."

Wearing an expression similar to Alice's at the bottom of the rabbit hole, Harry curled up on his side again, his head on a corner of the pillow he was clutching.

"One step at a time, Potter," said Draco softly as Snape started talking into the phone again. "There's quite a bit you don't know, just as there's quite a bit about you that we don't know either. Oh, and in case you've not figured it out, Nia is Sev's assistant. Scary thing."

"Ta, darling. No, he's here." Snape chuckled. "No idea, but even if I did know how he manages to get past you I wouldn't tell. No, I'm quite certain his wife would mind. I'll let him know, but don't hold your breath." He set the receiver down with a shake of his head. "Nia wishes to meet the bloke with the poncy name, her words."

"You're married?" exclaimed Harry, before Draco could list his many objections to encountering Nia face to face. His hands came up to massage his temples again.

Draco's face softened, and he gave Harry a shy smile as he nodded. "Do you recall Daphne Greengrass? She was in our year, hung out with Pansy Parkinson a lot."

"I think so," Harry said slowly as his brow furrowed in concentration. "Blonde, kind of quiet. Stayed in the background mostly, as I remember it. But I figured you'd married Parkinson eventually."

"Might have done if Voldemort had won. I married Astoria, Daphne's sister, about six months ago. She works at the Ministry, in the Administrative Registration Department. That's where we met, actually."

Rubbing at a spot in the centre of his forehead, Harry shook his head. "Nothing is making any sense." He tensed when Draco pulled his wand, and he couldn't stop the fear from flashing in his eyes.

"Relax, Potter," Snape said. "Draco is not going to cause you harm. He merely wishes to know the source of the pain you are experiencing, as do I."

Murmuring a series of charms under his breath, Draco finally sheathed his wand after a few long moments. "It's tension more than anything, though you need to eat and get loads more sleep. Broths, soups, porridge, perhaps some bread for the next few days, and work up to solid food. And you should spend more time asleep than you do awake. I've Headache Remedy here somewhere."

"Having my glasses would help," muttered Harry morosely, though Draco had said he needed to do nothing more than to eat and sleep.

"Nia's not seen them," said Snape with a frown.

"Oh." Harry bit his lip. "What about my clothes? I can't very well go out in this," he said, indicating the thin cotton nightshirt he appeared to have acquired.

"We had to burn them," said Draco. "They were crawling with lice and Merlin only knows what else. Besides, they were caked with blood, and we had to cut them off you in order to heal your arm."

The blow came hard. An expression of profound loss and mortification came over his face, and shame filled his eyes. He curled away from Snape and buried his face, refusing to look at either one of them.

"Sleeping Draught and Headache Remedy," said Draco, his tone far too empathetic to be strictly professional. "Sev, go gentle with him, all right? I don't think he can take much more."

Snape roused Harry long enough for Draco to pour the two potions into him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such a look of defeat in the young man's eyes. "Go to sleep, Harry," he said gently. "I promise things will look better in the morning."

* * * * * *

For the next few days, Harry perched in the spacious window seat and stared mindlessly out at the Heath or wandered aimlessly through Snape's rooms, never venturing beyond the doorway. He didn't speak; whatever thoughts were going on behind his green eyes were kept to himself.

Most mornings, Snape awoke to the sound of the shower running, and while Harry took the opportunity to feel human again, he prepared a light breakfast and laid out a clean, white cassock for him. While he busied himself with the daily papers, Harry picked at his porridge, sipped some orange juice and carried off a piece of toast to nibble on.

Lunch was a repeat of breakfast, except, instead of reading the news, Snape reviewed the books and placed orders for vast quantities of fresh foods and odd supplies before vanishing downstairs for an hour or so. Upon his return, he usually availed himself of the bathroom and groomed himself meticulously, then headed downstairs for the evening.

Because he was busy with other obligations, Snape had Seth deliver supper to Harry and, if he had a chance, came upstairs to take the tray away himself. Malfoy Flooed in most nights to check on Harry and tried unsuccessfully to draw him into conversation, but it was clear that Harry wasn't ready to speak.

"Throw him a bone, will you, Potter?" Malfoy said one night as he dipped his fingers into the container of Floo powder, preparing to leave. "He's actually concerned about you." As the fire turned emerald green, he whispered a location and a password. "As am I," he added as he disappeared in a shower of sparks.

More days drifted by with nothing to anchor them to memory, though it was becoming clear that Snape was working himself to the point of exhaustion, seldom in bed before 3 AM. Harry, on the other hand, was usually up with the sun. One morning, a few weeks after first discovering Harry in his foyer, Snape found himself in desperate need of sleep and, stumbling through fixing Harry's breakfast, he penned a quick note before going back to bed.

__

__

_Harry,_

__

__

_I invite you to dine with me downstairs tonight at 7:00. Should you be unable to find me, Nia (young girl, piercings, magenta hair) will direct you to my table._

__

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_Until then,  
Severus_

  


* * * * * *

  


It was a quiet night, as Snape had expected. By a little after 7 pm he was tucked into a small horseshoe-shaped booth set at the rear of a dimly lit dining room. To the casual eye, the room appeared vaguely Middle Eastern, with low tables, low seats and a large number of pillows scattered about the floor. But there were no arches leading from room to room, no beaded curtains, no swags of gaily printed fabric. The wood in here was dark, the deep jewel colours of the walls brought to life by subtle touches of gleaming brass. Something classical was playing softly in the background.

Two other couples occupied the room. In both cases, one person was dressed, like Harry, in a long white cassock, the other in ordinary street clothes. As Nia all but dragged Harry through the entrance, one of the white-clad patrons settled gracefully onto a pillow and rested her head on her companion's thigh.

Harry didn't have time to blink before he was thrust rather unceremoniously into Snape's presence. He gathered the cassock around his legs and slid quickly into the booth, face flushed. "I thought you said this was your home," he whispered harshly, glancing around uncomfortably despite his lack of eyewear.

"Nia, darling," Snape said to his magenta-haired assistant, "will you ask Callum bring out a bottle of Bordeaux and a plate of cheeses for me? Two glasses. There's a dear."

"Welcome to Salazar's," said Snape quietly, when he and Harry were alone. "My home and one of the very few private clubs in this part of London. We cater to a rather…" he paused as he considered the next word, "exacting clientele, but over the last five years, we've increased our membership tenfold and we're able to be rather selective about who we admit."

"Including us, there are six people here, Sn—" That was as far as Harry was able to get before Snape's fingers touched his lips.

"To these people, I am Stephen Severin Prince. By my leave, most call me 'Sev' or 'Sir'. Only Draco calls me Severus. You may do the same." Snape leaned against the back of the booth as the aforementioned Callum approached, observing quietly as the young man set down a plate of various cheeses and deftly opened the wine.

"I brought the second glass, Sir," Callum said, giving Harry a questioning glance.

"You did well," Snape replied. "Please bring out a small tureen of stew in about 45 minutes. Until then, I will see to our needs."

"Very good. Thank you, Sir." Callum gave Snape a respectful nod and went over to one of the other tables as Nia escorted a fourth couple to a booth several down from where they sat.

"As I was about to say," continued Snape, "it is Monday, a notoriously slow night, but usually steady enough to warrant remaining open. It is also rather early in the evening. By the time we have finished our conversation and made our plans for the foreseeable future, I anticipate that the dining room will be at least half full, and most likely more so."

"Should have figured you'd want to talk," grumbled Harry. "But why here? We could have stayed in your room and done the same thing."

Snape ignored Harry's objection. "Draco says you're improving. You need a year's worth of regular meals and he wagers you're still on the brink of exhaustion, but he's rather certain you'll live. The question is what shall we do with you now?"

Harry dropped his head and picked at the hem of his sleeve. There were no loose threads; the garment was too finely made. He had no clothes, unless he stole from Snape, and he was reluctant to repay the man's generosity with theft. "I'm a fair hand with a dust rag and I can do dishes without breaking them," he said quietly before looking up. "I have nothing to my name. I barely have that any more," he admitted in a choked voice. "But if you'll hire me on, I'll be able to repay you for my expenses and earn enough to replace what I've lost."

Snape waved the offer away and with it a sizeable number of Harry's hopes. "You've cost me nothing more than a few potions and some sleepless nights. But as you've little to bargain with, for payment I'll take the truth."

Green eyes blazed for a moment before filling with defeat. "I've never stolen from you," Harry said firmly. "Not the lace—" he dropped to a whisper, "lacewing flies, not the boomslang skin and not the gillyweed."

A roar of laughter burst out, loud enough to draw the attention of the other diners. "Good lord, Potter," Snape chuckled, "that was over ten years ago. Don't tell me you've been carrying that load of guilt all this time."

Confusion filled Harry's face and he stared at Snape as he shook his head. "Not really, no." He rubbed his temples, not even certain if his head was starting to ache or if his brain was simply too full at the moment to process all his thoughts.

Seeing the gesture, Snape slid closer and pressed his wineglass into Harry's hand. "Take a sip. It will ease your head." Something deep inside him purred as Harry obeyed without question. "Very good, Potter," he murmured as he set the glass down and moved several inches back.

"Thank you, Sir," Harry murmured. "But I'm not sure what you want the truth about. I _did_ cause a couple of explosions in class, but it's a bit too late now to take any points."

"Potter, you were twelve," said Snape as he pushed the wineglass towards Harry once again. "The truth I want is the one you've not told anyone yet. I want to know everything that's happened to you since the night the headmaster died."

"But you were…" Harry started before all the blood drained from his face. "I should have known," he said in a strangled voice. "It was never enough for you to see me brought low, not if there was a chance to humiliate me past bearing in the process." He started to scramble out of the booth, only to be yanked back by a strong grip on his arm.

"Come back here, Potter," Snape hissed, all too familiar with the signs of incipient Gryffindor recklessness. "I have any number of ways of humiliating you at my disposal and even more of silencing you, but I am willing to give you the opportunity to behave yourself instead. I know you're gay. I know that's why you left—as did I."

If anything, Harry's face went three shades whiter. No one in their right mind would claim to be queer, especially if he wasn't, but Harry knew Snape to be straight if he was anything at all. "Why would you say that? You've never lied to me before."

Brow furrowing, Snape filled the wineglass and drank heavily from it. "Why would you think I'm lying now? As you said, Potter, I've never lied to you. In all the years you've known me, have I ever once denied the truth to spare your feelings?"

"I saw your memories, the ones you gave me that night. The memories of you and my mum. You can't deny you loved her, that you wanted her. I think you're just as angry that James Potter was my father as you are about the fact that you're not."

Snape very nearly spewed a mouthful of wine across the table. As it was, he choked on it instead and spent several minutes coughing and trying to clear his throat. "That may well be," he said finally in a raspy voice, "the most absurd thing I've ever heard—and after having taught for nearly twenty years, I was convinced I'd heard every idiotic statement there was."

"You loved my mother and you hated my father," Harry replied unsteadily. "You even told Dum…the headmaster that you'd rather…Tom had murdered him and me instead of her. You loved her and you wanted her for yourself."

"For some reason, Potter," Snape replied quietly, "I rather suspect you are the last person who requires a lecture on how that world views homosexuality, in men in particular. I am told you have first-hand experience with that particular prejudice yourself."

As he watched, Potter went rigid, his eyes screwed closed, his teeth clenched as though exerting iron control over his emotions. Snape wondered if he was even breathing. "I loved your mother completely, and for a time I fancied her as well. But it became apparent to me during my fourth year at school that your sainted mother didn't have the bits I was attracted to. Later, when I learnt of the prophecy and discovered that she was a possible target, I went to the headmaster to arrange for her protection. I lied to him, Potter, to save her skin and my own."

"But your Patronus…" Harry whispered, folding in on himself before Snape's eyes.

"Is a much better mate to your father's and, as I understand it, your own, though what that has to do with the price of eggs I'll never know." Selecting several small wedges of cheese, Snape filled a small plate and set it between them. "Has no one told you what your mother's Patronus was?" he said as he fed the confused boy.

Harry shook his head as he selected a piece and nibbled on it. After swallowing, he said, "No. I assumed it was a doe like yours."

As Snape watched the titbit disappear between Harry's pink and perfect lips, it occurred to him that Harry might not be appreciative of the interest being shown him and directed his gaze elsewhere. "No, her Patronus was a lynx, like Kingsley's. The markings were different, of course."

Pulling his feet up, Harry curled up around a pillow that was on the seat next to Snape. He rested his cheek against the back cushion of the booth. "I don't understand any of this. The bit in the headmaster's office, what was that about, if not my mother's Patronus?"

As he spoke, Snape continued to ply Harry with food while one part of his mind catalogued his responses. "How does one cast a Patronus?" he inquired, his voice low.

Selecting another bite of cheese at Snape's urging, Harry considered the question. "When Remus taught me, he had me focus on a happy memory. Bit of a challenge, that, but I learnt that it wasn't the memory so much as allowing happiness to spread through me and tapping into its power. You need to be able to feel happiness to conjure one."

"Precisely, Potter, but we seldom choose the form our Patronus takes. It is likely that yours resembles your father's since, when you learnt to cast it, you worshipped him—or at least your memories of him."

"I didn't have any of him," Harry protested.

"Rubbish," Snape spat out. "You saw him in the Mirror of Erised, and most of Hogwarts took great pains to tell you how much you resembled him in look and deed."

"I think you led that chorus, Sir," Harry said with a sigh before burying his face in the back of the seat, knowing that one criticized Severus Snape at his own peril.

"You're not entirely wrong about that," Snape admitted. "It wasn't the form that the headmaster referred to, but that I was able to cast one at all. To my knowledge, I am the only one of…Tom's group who could. My friendship with her, how much she once cared about me even after she had given up on me, that was what enabled my Patronus. The form is, and always has been, completely immaterial."

Harry closed his eyes, head swimming with information, most of it entirely new to him. "Can we talk about something else?"

"On the condition you accept that what I have revealed is the truth. I _am_ gay, Potter, and I left because I wanted to live my life in the manner of my choosing. Had I been straight, I would have been willing to suffer the ignominy of having a Mark on my arm, and I would have sought Minerva's forgiveness and stayed on if she'd have had me. Otherwise, I would have joined Draco in France and sought employment there."

Harry sat up and asked wearily, "What do you want to know?"

"As I said, Potter," Snape replied, "everything from that night to the point you appeared in the entryway."

"It's going to take a long time," warned Harry.

Snape quirked an eyebrow. "We have as much time as it takes."

Harry spoke in halting words as he recounted everything from Dumbledore's funeral to the final encounter with Voldemort, downplaying his role in everything up to the point where he walked alone into the Forbidden Forest.

"It was Hermione, mostly, who saved us over and over again. And you and Ron and Narcissa and Draco and Neville.” Harry sighed. “But I'm the one who became the face of it all. When they found out about…Tom killing me, the whole Saviour thing got out of hand."

"I always wondered why you needed the sword. I had little understanding of Tom's plans, as the headmaster intended. But the wand and that infernal cloak…." Snape shook his head. "There was no mention made of any of that."

Harry sighed. "There were always plans within plans, and schemes within schemes. I went to find you after it was over, but the shack was gone, burnt to the ground. I mourned you for years, until I couldn't any more."

"You mourned me? For god's sake, why?"

"Because of your memories. Because, if I'd trusted the headmaster, I might have had your help. Because you saved me anyway, even knowing how much I hated you." Harry looked at him with grass green eyes swimming with tears. "I was an utter prat to you, worse than my father in some ways—and that's saying something."

Five years of living amongst Muggles as a gay man with nothing to hide had softened many of Snape's rough edges. So, too, had living without having to spend every waking moment with one eye looking over his shoulder. He'd been attacked only once—and had sent the homophobic thugs to the hospital with injuries never seen before. The worst of that lot was finding it very difficult to live without a tongue. "You were better than some and certainly no worse than most," he said after a long moment. "What happened afterwards?"

"Funerals, mostly. Then, after that, the rebuilding started. Kingsley was elected to take Fudge's place." Harry wiped his eyes, still feeling the losses keenly, and thought back to that summer. "Tom's supporters were rounded up right after it all ended, and they got the trials started as soon as they found a place to hold them. Everyone else worked on something. Everyone except me, the Wizengamot and Tom's lot. The school, the Ministry, the village and Diagon Alley were all in ruins, and it took everyone to put it all to rights.

"After it was all over, Kingsley offered me and Ron a place in the Auror Corps. We lived with George over Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes while we were in training. Hermione went back to school so she could sit her exams." As he spoke, Harry eyed the plate of cheese, but made no effort to select anything.

Shaking his head, Snape lined up half a dozen bites of the sort he'd noticed Harry preferred. "Work your way through those," he instructed. "As you are not a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, one can conclude you decided you'd had enough of the eternal struggle between good and evil."

Grateful he no longer had to choose what, or whether, to eat, Harry slowly ate the first piece, savouring its taste. "I washed out of the programme," he said with a shrug, averting his eyes.

"Nonsense." Capturing Harry's gaze, Snape selected for himself a wedge of soft white cheese and washed it down with a sip of wine. "You forget I know how skilled you are. The terms were the truth, Potter, the one you've held close to your heart and refused to share. What happened in training?"

"The truth is I washed out. Even _Harry Potter_ isn't allowed to restart the programme more than three times," he snarled, a rare flash of anger highlighting the brilliant green of his eyes.

That tiny spark of rage gave Snape hope. _Good. Very good. You're still alive after all._ If ever there was someone who could rise from the ashes of his life to start anew, it was the young man sitting across from him.

"The first two times were accidents. The third was intentional. Do you want the details?"

"As I do not have old copies of _The Daily Prophet_ lying about, naturally I want the details."

"Just as well," grumbled Harry. "They never get it right anyway. We were about a month into training and our class was sent to watch a duelling exhibition. Shades of Lockhart, right? Except these were all hit wizards and very proficient in the use of the Dark Arts. We were really excited, seeing all these curses and counter-curses we'd been reading about, so Ron and I got seats right in the front row.

"One of 'em had a cold, can you believe it? She'd forgotten to take some Pepper-Up and she sneezed while casting a Bone Dissolving Hex. My head was turned so I didn't see it coming, but Ron did—and sat there, the git. Watched it hit me right in the shoulder. By the time they got me to St Mungo's, all I had left was my skull and the bones in my left foot.

"Do you know how they treat that?" asked Harry quietly.

"I didn't know they _could_ treat it," replied Snape with a frown. It was a notoriously wicked curse, usually killing its victim within thirty minutes through suffocation and paralysis.

"They pour you into a body mould and suspend you face down so your lungs still work. I was on Skele-Gro for two solid weeks, regrowing most of the bones in my body. And you can't have pain relievers when you're taking Skele-Gro so I spent most of the time trying not to scream.

"By the time I got out, I'd missed too much to continue with that class, so I started up again with the next one. I got a little further along the second time through.

"A lot of the training is how to work with a partner and I always figured I'd be working with Ron, but we weren't classmates any more. I was assigned to this Ravenclaw who'd been trying to get into the programme for five or six years, so he was about as old then as I am now. Reminded me a lot of Goyle, actually. A bit thick and rather clumsy at that.

"So there we were, in training, and I'm trying to trust that Hector," Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes, "was going to watch my back. That was the whole point of it. We'd pair up and the rest of the class would try to get non-lethal curses past the guard. He got caught out by a simple tripping hex, fell into me, and I stumbled right into an Exploding Eyeball curse and spent another two weeks in St Mungo's. It was another week after that for my vision to settle in.

"You know," Harry said pensively, "Kingsley offered to tutor me himself if I'd just try to go back to my class, but training was nothing like school. If I fell behind at school, there was always Hermione to get me caught up. I went back for a week, but I'd missed so much I couldn't even hazard a guess at what our lectures were about. It wasn't about spells or wandwork at that point; it was all the procedural things you have to know, like about warrants and searches and evidence. And trying to read was agonising."

So far, the only thing Draco's version had in common with Harry's was that Harry washed out. The rest sounded like an unfortunate string of bad luck. "And the third time? What happened then?" Snape asked gently.

"That one was intentional, as I said." Harry's eyes came back into focus and couldn't have looked any guiltier than if he'd been caught in Honeydukes with his pockets full of Chocolate Frogs. "You may wish to share this story with Draco at some point. No doubt he'll appreciate it," he said bitterly.

"All the way through training, there's a number of tests we have to pass to be allowed to continue, and my marks were always at or near the top of the class. The last test before the final qualifying exam is the one to evaluate how we'll react in combat, like at the Department of Mysteries. It's always helpful to know that an Auror won't lose his head completely when being attacked by a dozen Dark wizards." Realising that he was being less cautious than prudence dictated, Harry swept his eyes over the dining room, surprised to notice it was considerably busier than it had been a short while ago.

"Sorry, I'll try to stay quiet," Harry said, dropping his voice to the point where he was barely audible.

"You have nothing to worry about here," Snape assured him. "I do not speak of that world since I have no wish to return to it and I have no expectation that anyone will appear to drag me back. I do adhere to the secrecy laws, of course, but you needn't censor yourself quite so heavily."

Harry nodded his understanding. "Alright. So, it's the final test and the point is to make it through without getting captured or 'killing' a fellow Auror. It's hard, like being back in the maze, and I really wondered why I was putting myself through it. But I made it through with nearly a perfect score…and then I let my guard down.

"He'd lost a son and a niece at the school, you see, and blamed me. Some do," Harry added quietly. "If I hadn't taken so long finding and destroying all those objects, if I hadn't brought the battle to the school, they might have lived. For every hundred people who wanted to shake my hand, there were one or two who wanted to spit in my face. He put all of his grief into his _Sectumsempra_ and nearly cut me in half. He was taken to the Janus Thickey ward, and I spent a little while in a coma.

"Kingsley himself asked the Head of the DMLE to let me back in, but Robards refused. Said it was apparent that I'd be a liability to the organisation, especially since my presence had caused one of their most experienced members to snap. I could have gone directly to the Wizengamot and requested dispensation, but I thought maybe I'd give it a few years and try my hand at something else, and if I still wanted to be an Auror, I could go that route later.

"After that, I spoke to a few of the Healers at St Mungo's, and they agreed to allow me to sit the entrance examinations. If I did well enough, they'd waive the N.E.W.T. requirements, but, as I had three months with nothing to do, I went back up to school—I used to visit at the weekends when I could—and asked Professor McGonagall to let me sit in on the last two months of classes and take the tests I would have taken anyway.

"She turned me down, but offered to arrange tutoring for me, and I sat the exams at the Ministry. I didn't pass Arithmancy or Runes, no surprise, but I did well on everything else and scored high enough on the exam at St Mungo's that it didn't matter." Harry lifted the wineglass they'd been sharing and took a sip. He flushed slightly as he set it down and curled up tighter.

Eyeing Harry critically, Snape summoned Callum over and requested a lap robe be brought over. As he started to tuck it around him, Harry edged away, his expression guarded. "Let me say this, if for some reason you fear for your virtue, Potter, don't. Regardless of whether I find you attractive, you are in no condition, none at all, to engage in…relations with anyone, least of all me.”

"Thank you, Sir," he replied modestly. "You're…" he swallowed nervously, "I'm almost always freezing."

"Idiot child," grumbled Snape as he encouraged Harry to move a bit closer. "Do not begrudge yourself any comfort for fear of offending me. I am not the man you knew as a boy. Tell me about St Mungo's."

After a piece of cheese and more wine, Harry began speaking more freely. "It was an amazing experience, and there wasn't a moment when my admiration for you didn't grow. I'd no idea that you're all but a qualified mediwizard in your own right, Sir. Then all your knowledge of Potions on top of that. The Healers were all very sorry to have lost you, down to the last one."

"My ego is in fine shape, Potter. It does not require any bolstering, though I do wonder how you managed to succeed on the Potions portion of the entrance examinations. I had a hand in drafting some of the questions they use and I know they are at least as challenging as anything asked on the seventh year exams."

"The Half-Blood Prince taught me," Harry admitted. "Your book was my book, just as you suspected. When I asked to return to school, one of the things McGonagall gave me was your old set of textbooks. All of them, Sir. They'd found them in the headmaster's office when the castle was being repaired, and in some of the classrooms too, you see, and she wouldn't let anyone throw them out. Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Defence and Potions. All there, except the one that burnt up." Tears again welled up in his eyes. "I don't know what happened to them, but if I ever had the chance to get some of my things back, they'd be on the list."

That Harry would have such a deep attachment to his old texts stunned Snape, and he began to reassess everything he thought he knew about him. He had always been so certain Harry would land on his feet—after all, he had time and time again—that it never once occurred to him that one day Harry's luck might run dry.

A faint blush stained Harry's cheeks. "They were all I had of you. All I was going to have, since you were dead and everything." He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I suppose it doesn't matter. This is all very surreal, Sir."

"I imagine it is." Snape glanced up as Callum delivered a tureen of stew and fresh loaf of crusty bread still steaming from the oven. "Another bottle of wine, please, Callum, and take the extra glass away with you. We will not be requiring it after all."

"Right away, Sir," Callum replied with a gentle smile. "In case you're wondering, Nia is quoting seven to three in favour. She reckons by Friday she'll have three hundred quid on the line."

"Remind her...never mind. I'll speak with her tonight. No need to serve us. I'll see to it." Snape shared a wry grin with Harry. "We've a bit of a disagreement about what her bookkeeping duties entail." Skilled fingers took knife in hand and sliced the bread evenly. He filled a bowl halfway and set it before Harry. "Eat slowly and remember, there's plenty."

Harry watched wide-eyed as Snape laid out an entire meal for him, going so far as to butter his bread. "Umm, how much will this cost, Sir?"

Giving Harry a sideways glance, Snape shook his head. "There is no need for you to worry about expenses. I own the restaurant. Fair enough?" Snape's eyebrow settled back into place when Harry nodded. "Good. Now, St Mungo's, Potter. Why are you not a Healer like Draco?"

"I'm not a Healer," Harry said uneasily, "because I can't work miracles." He took another sip of wine when Snape suggested it, but he flinched violently when Snape reached out to wipe away a drop from the corner of Harry's mouth with his finger.

Drawing back his hand sharply, Snape hastened to assure Harry that he meant no harm. "I should not have done... Harry, you need not fear that I will take liberties. Nothing will happen between us that you don't want."

"I...I don't know what I want," Harry confessed as he inched his way closer again. "It's been a long time since anyone bothered to ask."

Harry's statement brought something to mind and Snape shifted around until he was able to look Harry squarely in the face. "There is no delicate way of asking this, so I will be blunt. Were you raped, Potter?"

Harry’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. He swallowed heavily, started to shake his head and blinked, his eyes sweeping over the room to see if anyone was listening. A mask dropped over his features and he tensed. "I was—once. Right after I left, but it was a long time ago. I was naive and thought I could protect myself. Why?"

"Draco found a moderate anal fissure, which was easily healed, and while there are a number of causes for them, inadequate preparation for intercourse is one of the most common. That coupled with your remark about not being asked about your preferences led me to wonder."

Harry was quiet for a long time. "Wine, please?" he requested, making no attempt to reach for the bottle to refill the goblet himself. He sipped steadily, slowly, until half the glass was gone. "Your question and the explanation for it," he said softly, "are why I know I can trust you." He gave Snape a small smile and curled up again.

"I'll answer your question," he continued, "but it will take me a bit of time to get there, all right?"

"I would rather you say what's on your mind," replied Snape. "As I said, we have as much time as it takes.

Harry took a deep breath. "The first time Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley, all these strangers came up to me to thank me and I had no idea why. I hadn't done _any_ thing," said Harry into the easy silence. "I was always noticed, especially after the Tournament, when the Ministry thought I'd gone 'round the twist. Then, when it turned out I was right, there was always someone who wanted to touch me or speak with me. I was a symbol of sorts. Scrimgeour even wanted me to be his personal poster boy.

"It was worse, far worse, after the conflict. Unless I was at the Ministry or our flat, I couldn't go anywhere alone. A trip to the shops turned into a public appearance. I thought everything would die down after the first anniversary memorials were over, but I was wrong.

"The few times I was in St Mungo's—as a patient, I mean—there were enough flowers and gifts sent to me to share them with everyone three times over. Unless you live at the centre of it, you can't imagine what it's like to be shouted at and mobbed every time you show your face.

"We tried to keep it secret that I was studying at St Mungo's. It's not like the Ministry, where they can keep people out of certain areas. There are patients everywhere, and most of them have a pretty steady stream of visitors." Harry's face darkened. "It was Ginny. She was at Madame Malkin's, trying on new robes, and she told someone I was training at St Mungo's to be a Healer. The next day's headline read 'The Saviour Lives to Save Lives'. God, it was horrible."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I hated her for that, you know, telling people where I was, especially since so many people had worked so hard to keep it quiet. She said it was an accident, of course. We had a dreadful row about it. The four of us, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and me, were sharing a flat off Lyric Alley then." He gave Snape a sad smile. "Those might have been the best six months of my life."

"Were you sharing a bed with the charming Ms Weasley?" Snape asked, trying to tamp down the irrational tendrils of jealousy wrapping themselves around his stomach. Apparently, he wasn't successful at keeping its note out of his voice, as Harry's keen eyes sharpened.

"Yes, and it was every bit as wretched as you probably imagine. I'll come back to that, okay?" Harry took a few minutes to inhale his stew, gesturing for more when he'd finished the bit Snape had parcelled out.

"The next day, the hospital was mobbed. After learning I was becoming a Healer, the patients stopped listening to their own Healers and wanted my opinion on everything. It didn't matter that I was still in the earliest stages of the programme, they still wanted me. So did their families and friends. We turned them down, of course, but it didn't matter.

"Nothing stops these people," complained Harry. "We even made arrangements so I could complete my training in the States, but Ginny wouldn't hear of it. She threatened to call off our engagement and I was cowardly enough to give in. My first day on the wards was a disaster. A little girl died because of me."

Recognising the haunted look in Harry's eyes, Snape was certain the young man was taking responsibility for something that was beyond his control. "Tell me," he said as reached out tentatively to move his hand in soothing circles over Harry's back.

"They couldn't get in," said Harry, his voice hollow. "She'd gotten into the potions cabinet. The Potions Master said afterwards that he suspected she'd ingested some doxycide, some herbicide and some All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She was just taking the caps off and tasting everything. She was just a little girl, Sir, barely three, and they couldn't get in because of all those other people there to catch a glimpse of The Chosen One. She died in her father's arms."

Hot tears welled in Harry's eyes and spilled in rivulets down his cheeks. He let them fall, as they did every time he remembered the moment he'd found out about it. "I quit that day," he said raggedly as Snape offered him what comfort he could.

"I've never spoken about that with anyone. I fed Ginny a story about other witches throwing themselves at me and being tired of dealing with it, but that wasn't true. Some did, of course, but I always told them I was too young to get married. I didn't have a career, had no idea what to do next and I had other things to sort out.

"Right after that, Ginny started trying out for every Quidditch team in Britain. The only team to offer her a spot with no strings attached was the Holyhead Harpies. The others offered her a reserve spot if I came as Seeker."

"I'm surprised you didn't accept one of those offers, Potter. As much as it pains me to admit it, you were one of the best Seekers ever to pass through the doors of the castle."

Drawing a shaky breath, Harry dried his face on his sleeve. "Remember that Exploding Eyeball curse? It changed something in my vision. I can find the Snitch just as well, but there's something a bit off with my depth perception. Dunno what it is, but I can't play at that level. The Pride of Portree offered me a post in their Public Relations Department, though, and by then I thought maybe it would be best to let my fame work for me for a change.

"It wasn't a bad job, by any means, and it had the added bonus of getting me away from Ginny. She was in Wales, I was in Scotland, and I felt like I could breathe again. That's where I met Tristam and learnt my attraction to blokes was not a passing fancy.

"Every single day was like walking into the Forest, knowing Voldemort was waiting for me, knowing I was going to die. It was like that every time I looked at him. I wanted, god, I wanted to so much and I was terrified because I did. I wanted to hate him for being so fucking beautiful that I ached from it, but mostly I wanted to hate him because it meant that again, I'm not normal.

"I don't know how you live with it," whispered Harry. "I don't know how you can accept something about yourself that's so different from everyone you know. I could barely stand to kiss Ginny and touching her, especially, you know, _there_ , was absolutely revolting, but with Tris I wanted to touch and taste and shag like the world was ending—and I spent every moment in fear that someone would find out."

"He was your first, I take it?" asked Snape, relying on the old mental disciplines he had once mastered to keep himself from spiralling into a dark rage. Despite having made it a condition of his largesse, Harry's past was none of his affair, but the more he heard, the angrier he grew. Not with Harry, no, but with the world that had treated him so abysmally.

"Tris? No, no. Oh, god no!" Harry shook his head vehemently. "At that point, I thought I had far too much to lose. I was young and every bit as stupid as you accused me of being. No, Oliver was the first bloke I ever snogged. A few months later I discovered what losing everything really meant."

"I should think it means different things to different people," said Snape as he buttered another thick slice of bread for Harry before preparing one for himself. "What does it mean to you?"

Drawing the lap robe closer around his shoulders Harry shivered and his eyes grew distant as he was assailed by memories. It was minutes before he was able to speak again. "You asked what losing everything meant," he said slowly, as if each word cost him dearly. "It's not about doing without. It's not about finding a place to sleep when it's snowing, or wondering where your next meal is coming from. It's not about having a wand or a job or a good reputation.

"Losing everything means having no one to talk to. It's not knowing anybody who knows or cares anything about you. It's being so lonely you'll talk to the pigeons just to convince yourself you exist. It's watching people cross the street when they see you coming and being invisible when you're right in front of them, starving." He smiled weakly. "Sometimes it's wanting so much to be clean that you start to wonder if you'd sell yourself for five minutes under hot running water or thinking you'd actually kill for a kind word or touch."

He reached for Snape’s hand and clasped it between his, gazing earnestly into Snape’s dark eyes. "It means you'll accept being beaten because you feel something besides emptiness. I've learnt through experience that it's far crueller to deprive a man of companionship than of a roof over his head.

"I don't know why you've been so kind to me. God knows I never gave you a reason to be, but right now, at this very moment, I'm terrified of what I would agree to do so that this doesn't end." He released his hold on Snape's hand and rested his forehead on the man's shoulder, too shaken by the admission to continue.

The last time Snape had seen Harry so vulnerable, so fragile, was the night he appeared at the entrance to the maze clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory, and he knew that a single wrong word would shatter Harry into a million tiny pieces. "Were I the man you once believed me to be, I would take advantage of that fear and slice you to ribbons with it, but I find my desire to see you suffer has waned considerably. You said you know me to be trustworthy; understand that I will do nothing to disabuse you of that trust."

It was a simple thing to allow Harry his silence, to acknowledge that it had been so long since he'd had an opportunity to speak with anyone that it was quite an easy thing for him to be overwhelmed by emotion, by memory, by having a need long-denied finally sated. It was enough to stroke his hair and rub his back, to hold his hand until he was ready to speak again.

"You know, I rather liked living in Portree. It reminded me a lot of Hogsmeade and it wasn't that far from the castle. I got to see Hagrid from time to time, and McGonagall, and I'd visit when Gryffindor were playing their matches.

"Ron was chuffed that Ginny and I were working for professional Quidditch teams. He'll always support the Chudley Cannons, and we were able to get tickets to some of their matches for him. The thing about fans, though, is that they always know best and aren't afraid of saying so.

"The Pride fans thought it was on the manager's head that I wasn't playing as Seeker, that I was little more than a glorified front office drone. I did my appearances for them, signed memorabilia, gave speeches, spoke with the reporters, and I was paid ridiculously well for it. I have the distinction of being the only person in the organisation's history to negotiate for a lower salary," said Harry with a snort.

As Snape started to speak, Harry shot him a sharp glance. "I know my worth, Sir, and I know the value of real work, but that wasn't what I was doing."

"Is there a Gryffindor in history that hasn't suffered from an excess of nobility?" Snape said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Pettigrew comes to mind," replied Harry. "I didn't need it. The point of delaying my marriage wasn't about money. It was about being too young, too stupid and without direction. Ginny had Quidditch, and I'm not the sort who can lounge about doing nothing. The position in Portree was barely a step above that. I had no responsibilities, other than to make my appearances.

"But, as I started to say, the fans weren't happy that I wasn't on the pitch. That's where they wanted to see me and they were quite vocal about it. The letters started as the usual complaints about heads being up arses, but it was when they announced I wasn't qualified that things became rather ugly. We started receiving Howlers and cursed letters. Some were filled with stuff like bubotuber pus, but there were far too many that were actually dangerous.

"Candlemere—he was the general manager—contacted the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to see if something couldn't be done, but Robards sent an owl back saying I had nearly qualified as an Auror, he couldn't spare the manpower, and it might be a pleasant change for all concerned if I actually started to pull my weight."

"Potter, however did you manage to make an enemy of the head of the Auror Corps?" To Snape's well-ordered mind, it did not follow that Robards would be so set against Harry that he would throw him to the vultures, especially since Harry had the full support of the Minister of Magic.

"Robards was Scrimgeour's man," Harry said prosaically. "I was not. What I had done from the time I was sixteen forward made no difference to Robards. The scores I'd earned during training didn't matter. At one time, I stood in opposition to the Ministry and was rather more vocal about it than Robards was willing to tolerate. To his way of thinking, I was too likely to go my own way instead of his." There was a flash of Harry's old impudent grin. "You'd appreciate Robards, Sir. He sets great store on following rules."

"Brat," replied Snape, though there was no heat behind it. "My insistence that you follow the rules was for nothing more than my own peace of mind and my desire for a good night's sleep. You, of course, ensured neither was possible."

Harry laughed brightly. It was the cheeriest sound Snape had heard from him yet. "I wish I could go back and do it again, this time as a Slytherin and being anybody but me. You might have liked me the way you did Draco, and I could have really learnt Potions."

"You hated Potions, Potter." It was delivered as an observation with no venom behind it.

"No, I hated _you_. Huge difference, Sir. I sometimes wonder if the headmaster wanted it that way or if it was just how things were," mused Harry.

"For your first three years I hated you quite on my own, I assure you. The night you reconciled with your godfather changed a great many assumptions I held as truths and at the headmaster's insistence, I began to look at you in a new light."

For a moment Harry gazed quizzically at Snape, then a slow smile emerged. "I'll take you at your word, Sir." Somehow, it _almost_ felt like flirting. "Where was I?" His brows knitted together for a moment, and then he resumed his narrative. "Oh yes. Portree. It became my job to scan all the incoming mail for hexes and curses and that sort of thing. One day, our Seeker received a package—not unusual, some supporters like to send gifts to the players—and I checked it, like I did the others and passed it through.

"It never occurred to me, though it should have, that it had been spelled to activate the jinx after I'd used detection charms on it. An experienced Auror would have known, I think, but I didn't. It had a really powerful Finger-Removing Jinx on it."

Snape blinked. "Your Seeker lost his fingers?"

Shaking his head, Harry replied. "No, the team's general assistant did. A youngish witch named Chloe. She's the person who opened the mail and sent out the form replies, usually with an autographed picture of the players mentioned in the letter. Sometimes the actual player had signed it, too. Candlemere fired me that day. Can't say that I blame him, actually.

"I wasn't ready to go back to London and live with Ginny. Ron and Hermione had just become engaged. There was that whole thing with Tris that wasn't happening, and I didn't want to be who I was becoming. Instead of getting easier, everything was getting more difficult. Mostly, I didn't want to be queer. I don't want to be this…this thing."

That Harry would describe himself in such terms was almost painful. "You are not a thing," said Snape, his face inches from Harry's. "You are not a freak or an abomination or whatever other abusive terms people have seen fit to hurl at your head. You are a young man, full stop. That you find other men sexually attractive is just one part of the whole, but to deny that part of you will only cause you pain."

There was such a profound look of shame on Harry's face that Snape couldn't help but snarl. "If it takes the rest of my life, Potter, I will see you comfortable in your own skin." Snape wished he had the ability to hex Granger and whichever Weasleys had contributed to Harry's lack of self-worth. He drew a deep breath and centred himself. "What happened after you left the Pride of Portree?" In light of Harry's story, Snape thought the name almost ironic.

"I…I went to Hogwarts," said Harry in a choked voice. "Dumbledore always said help would be given to those who asked for it, and I thought maybe it would help me be normal."

Speaking with the confidence that comes from experience, Snape said, "I can assure you there exists no spell, potion or ritual to change an innate quality into something else. Not even Polyjuice Potion can change you into anything other than a gay man. How long did you remain at the castle?"

Harry's shoulders slumped, and he shifted around to hide his discomfort. "Until the end of the fall term. McGonagall didn't have any posts open so I couldn't remain. I'd have served as Filch's assistant, but the Board of Governors rejected me as being too much of a distraction to the students. So I came back to London.

"After that, I worked anywhere that would have me, as a shop clerk mostly, but it always turned into a disaster. The crowds scared the owls at Eyelops, broke the bristles off brooms at Quality Quidditch, turned Flourish & Blotts into what Muggles call a mosh pit. Even Florian Fortescue couldn't manage it, and he's been serving crowds in Diagon Alley for about a hundred years.

"Ginny was on my case constantly about getting married. Ron thought I should just go back to the Auror Corps. Hermione said I should go back to St Mungo's. George thought I should find someplace I really liked and stay there. They all reckoned it wouldn't last forever, that sooner or later it wouldn't be such a novelty to see me out in public, but I was so tired of being everyone's hero." Harry snorted a mirthless laugh. "I wish I'd remembered how easy it is to be torn down."

Up to this point, the conversation had been challenging for Harry, almost painfully so, and Snape suspected it was about to become much more difficult. "I know it has not been easy to tell me any of this. Knowing the value you place on your privacy, would you rather finish this upstairs?"

"Umm…." For a moment, Harry pulled away and studied Snape, tilting his head to the side as though faced with a decision of such magnitude that all the possible ramifications could never fully be accounted for. "No." Even as he spoke, his fingers skittered nervously over the table top, tiny tremors driving them to rattle his spoon against his empty bowl.

"Idiot child," Snape chided gently. "Not once have I known you to ask for assistance when you required it, nor accept it unless you had no alternative. Come with me." He eased Harry out the booth and, flagging down Callum, requested a pot of hot chocolate be delivered to his rooms. Harry was going to need it.

Wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulders, Snape escorted him out, moving slowly through the dining room and stopping at tables here and there to smile, chat and make inquiries about his guests’ meals. There were things he hoped Harry would notice on his own, small details that could provide him with some small peace of mind.

Stopping by Nia's desk in the front hall, Snape informed her he'd be upstairs for the remainder of the night. Rolling her eyes and smacking her gum loudly, she muttered something about him ruining a sure thing, leaving Harry to stare at her in puzzlement.

"She doesn't strike me as your type at all," Harry pronounced once they'd swept past the first landing.

"Have you heard nothing I've said?" asked Snape despairingly.

Harry coloured brightly. "Not the type I meant," he muttered. Once beyond Snape's doors, he stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with himself. Though he'd been more or less living here for nearly a month, he suddenly felt like a visitor—and an unwelcome one at that. Not knowing what else to do with himself, he sat in the window seat, knees pulled up tight against his chest, arms around his shins.

 _Little boy lost._ Dropping into a nearby chair, Snape removed his boots, his eyes never leaving Harry's meagre form. Seth arrived soon after with a large insulated pot of hot chocolate, a dish of whipped cream, two mugs and a look of confusion.

"I'll just set this here." Sliding the tray onto a low, round table, Seth beat a hasty retreat, deciding not to linger for Snape's customary praise or thanks.

Snape picked up the tray and started towards his bedroom, pausing in the doorway to ask, "Will you join me, please?" He set it down on the night table on what he was beginning to regard as "his" side of the bed and filled both mugs with the rich, steamy liquid.

"Are you sure I should be in here?" Harry asked from the doorway, twisting his white fingers nervously.

Snape looked up. "Did you think I would suddenly turn you out?" he asked, unsurprised when Harry lowered his eyes and nodded. "Would you rather I find you another room in which to sleep?"

Harry was silent for so long that Snape couldn’t tell whether Harry was ashamed of wanting to stay, or embarrassed because he didn't want to and was reluctant to hurt Snape's feelings. Deciding to remove any choice from the equation for now, Snape escorted Harry into the room, settled him in the middle of the bed, and pressed the hot chocolate into his shaking hands.

"Drink," he ordered as he began to unfasten his trousers and peel them off. He hung them up and removed his socks, tossing them casually in the hamper tucked into the corner of the room. He vanished into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later with his hair brushed, hands washed and tugging the leg of a pair of briefs into place.

Harry was still sitting in exactly the same position he'd been in earlier. Snape sat down next to him, tucking one leg under himself. "Are you frightened, Potter?" he asked gently as he guided the cup to Harry's lips and waited for him to swallow some. After living most of his life in the wizarding world, how could Harry not know about the recuperative powers of chocolate?

"I'm sorry," Harry said miserably. "It's not that I'm not attr—"

"Stop," Snape said firmly. "This is not about sex. There is more to your story and I want to hear the entire thing. You promised me honesty in exchange for which I promised to cancel any debts you believe you owe me." He leaned over and picked up his own mug, holding it comfortably before he sipped at it.

Harry mimicked Snape's movements mechanically, relaxing little by little as the warmth spread through his veins. His cheeks regained some of their colour, and he no longer appeared to be on the edge of a faint.

Once they finally had consumed the entire pot, Harry excused himself with a blush and disappeared to take his own turn in the bathroom. When he returned, Snape had turned the bed down and lit a few candles. His back against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, Snape patted the mattress next to him. "You said you trust me. If you believe I have only your best interests at heart, then please come to bed, Harry, and permit me take care of you."

With a sigh, Harry climbed up on the bed and sat nearby, his legs curled to the side, hands folded in his lap. A wave of Snape's hand dimmed the lights, leaving them in the soft glow of candlelight.

"We left our hero about to be knocked off his unwanted pedestal," Snape murmured quietly, the dark chocolate richness of his voice blending perfectly with the cocoon created by the shadows surrounding the bed.

Harry slapped lightly at Snape's thigh. "Stop. It's not funny."

"Nor did I laugh. Go on."

"True," admitted Harry. "I think I mentioned that Ron and Hermione had become engaged."

"You did."

"Ron had finished his training and was a fully qualified Auror. Hermione was working for the Ministry. Ginny was a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and I was sweeping floors at the Leaky Cauldron. Or maybe I was stocking ingredients for Slug & Jiggers. It could have been when I was cleaning cages at the Magical Menagerie. By that point, they were starting to blur together. I'd get a crap job, the _Prophet_ would find out where it was and within three days it was over.

"It was early June, absolutely brilliant time for a wedding. I was back in London, sharing a flat with the three of them. Ginny and I were sleeping together when she was home, and, since I wasn't working much, I was helping Molly get everything organised. Harry Potter, wedding planner." He waved his hand loosely. "I was sliding down into a black well, Sir. Every day was a bit worse than the one before, and I remember thinking that I should see about finding a Dementor to cheer me up. I'd destroyed Voldemort at seventeen. Where do you go from there?" Harry asked plaintively.

"You find something you love doing and do it. If you don't love it, you learn to tolerate it."

Harry laid his hand on Snape's leg and looked up. "It would have been helpful had you not died, you know. The wedding was beautiful, everything went off without a hitch. I was Ron's best man. Ginny was one of Hermione's bridesmaids. Molly wept. Arthur was proud. Charlie Flooed in from Romania. Perfect day all around.

"Since this was a 'society' wedding, there were loads of people there that none of us knew very well. You know: Ministry officials and Quidditch players and members of the Wizengamot. The press. That sort. It was almost a relief to find yourself talking to someone you knew, so I was dead chuffed to see Oliver Wood there. That's when it all went pear-shaped.

"It happened during the reception. I'd admittedly had a bit too much to drink. Ginny was off dancing with someone, no idea who, and Oliver sat down with me. It'd been years since I'd seen him last, and when I was eleven, he had been larger than life. That night, he just looked at me with those dark eyes, and I swear something inside me snapped. All I could think about was spending the rest of my life cringing every time Ginny worked her hand into my trousers, of wanting to sick up every time she wanted my hands on her, so when Oliver asked me if I wanted to get some air, I was desperate to say yes.

"I wasn't looking for anything to happen. Honestly, I'd not got that far in my thinking. I just had this thought in my head that maybe if I thought of Oliver when I was in bed with her, I might actually be able to get her pregnant someday. Or at least make her believe I was attracted to her enough to have sex with her. So we took a walk through the orchard, and our hands brushed against each other’s. It felt like I'd been hit with a Jelly Legs Jinx and I stumbled a bit. He grabbed my arm and then we were kissing and it was brilliant. It was the first time I'd ever kissed a bloke, and it was right and perfect and so fucking hot.

"I wasn't thinking. I know I wasn't. I was acting on instinct, and he leant back against a tree and spread his legs, and I knelt down and lifted up his robes and there it was, hard and wet and I just _had_ to taste it, to see what having his prick in my mouth would feel like, and I knew, I knew, and I couldn't not know it any more, couldn't lie to myself any more, and I sucked him off and kissed him and rutted against him like a dog. Then he turned me around and lifted my robes and slid a finger inside and I begged for it, needed it so much and he just added more fingers and worked them in and out until I came all over myself.

"Then the photographer stepped out and Oliver looked at me and said, 'Now I own you, Potter. You'll be my whore 'til the day you die.'"

A cold fury such as Snape had never known swept over him. Oblivious to his rage, Harry continued to speak, his words falling over themselves in their rush to escape the confinement under which they'd been held for years.

"I didn't know he was there, Sir," Harry pleaded, as though desperate to be believed. "And then Wood looked at me like I was something he'd scraped off the bottom of a stadium seat, and I kept thinking 'why does he want me if hates me?' It doesn't make any sense." Harry frantically gnawed on a nail until Snape removed the injured finger from his mouth.

"The photographer wanted his share as well. He wanted exclusive rights to photograph me—I thought he meant for the appearances I still had to make, but he had something else in mind. He also wanted Wood to fix some matches, let in a few extra goals to keep the spread at a certain point. They started arguing, but I left. I went inside to use the loo, spent about half an hour being sick, and then cleaned up best I could before going back to the party.

"Ginny and I were staying at the Burrow and gave Ron and Hermione the flat to use for a few days 'til they left for their honeymoon. Ron had to testify on some case, so they weren't leaving right away. I didn't sleep much that night, too many thoughts going 'round in my head. Ginny wanted sex, but, god, I'd have been sick all over her if we'd tried. She must have believed me since she slept in her old room that night.

"I must have fallen asleep at some point 'cause I woke up to hear people shouting. I threw on some old robes and ran downstairs—right into Ron's fist. He beat me to a pulp before Bill and Charlie got him off me. I'd no idea what I'd walked into 'til I understood what he was shouting at me. 'Fucking ponce. Bloody cocksucker.' Charlie was holding me while Bill tried to see how badly I'd been hurt, but Ginny started throwing curses and Ron started in, and, the next thing I know, there's a full-scale battle happening in the Weasleys' front room." Harry's face was stark white, his eyes round, and he shook to the point his teeth started chattering.

"R-Ron s-started to use an Unfor-forgiveable. He was screaming such vile things—and Hermione j-just stood there, her arms folded over her chest, wa-watching." Deep sobs wracked Harry's body and he wept a tempest of bitter tears, burying his face in Snape's lap as he tasted again the bitterness of his best friends' betrayal.

A dozen Dark curses sprang immediately to mind and Snape was hard-pressed not to leave Harry in Draco's care and embark on a night of retribution the likes of which had not been seen since the reign of Voldemort. He crooned nonsense as he stroked Harry's hair, doing everything in his power to comfort him as he allowed his imagination to run wild. He could brew a potion that would melt Wood from the inside out, snap Weasley's bones like twigs and reduce that Granger chit to a drooling idiot. And Ginevra… He had a particularly nasty fertility potion that would keep her in a state of almost perpetual pregnancy without ever bringing a single child to term.

"I'm sor…I didn't…god I'm so…"

"Potter, if you are attempting to apologise for experiencing a moment of well-deserved catharsis," snapped Snape, his voice as cutting as a knife, "I swear to you I will ensure you spend the next twenty-four hours unable to say anything at all."

Harry nodded mutely as fat tears continued to drip off his jaw. Hands fisting in the sheets, he crawled forward and curled up in a tight ball, leaning against Snape's side. "I'm nearly twenty-five," he said hoarsely. "I should be well past this."

"No, you shouldn't," replied Snape firmly as he cautiously laid his arm across Harry's back. "Grief is a funny thing. I barely made it a day without crying the year after your mother was murdered. Sometimes a little thing would bring it on—the glint of sunlight on daisies, a flash of green the colour of her eyes, a hint of jasmine in the air. You have every right to mourn the loss of their friendship. Let it go," he whispered.

Coaxing him into a more comfortable position, Snape moved a light hand over Harry's messy black hair as his shoulders started to shake. He was no longer sobbing; his breath came in shuddering fits and starts, and Snape wondered if Harry had _ever_ allowed himself to cry when the situation warranted it.

When he was able to breathe evenly again, Harry looked up. "After Mr Weasley and Bill got everybody under control," he continued in a tremulous voice so low that Snape struggled to hear him, "they showed me the _Prophet_ articles and the photographs that had been sent to Ginny. The paper had quotes from Oliver claiming I had led him out to the orchards with the intent of seducing him, that I had threatened to expose him as my lover if he didn't do what I wanted. He said I knew he wouldn't be able to fly for England if word got out, especially since there were pictures.

"Everyone was so upset, Ginny and Molly especially. Well," said Harry wearily, "I reckon I can't blame them. No babies from the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Ponce. Arthur tried to get a word in edgeways, but the whole family was shouting and blaming each other 'til Ginny ordered me to leave. I turned to go upstairs to get my things, but Hermione was between me and the stairs. We stared at each other for a minute, then she slapped me, hard." He brought his hand up to his cheek, touching it as though it still ached. "Arthur walked me to the door and escorted me out, apologised and closed it behind me. I can still hear it shut behind me.

"I Apparated to Grimmauld Place and spent the rest of the day in a fog. Really, I don't remember much from that point forward. It felt like watching someone else's memory in a Pensieve, very distant from it all even while it was happening. Ginny came over sometime that afternoon, I don't really know when, and tore into me the moment she walked through the door. She woke Sirius' mum up, so for awhile I had both of them screaming the roof down."

Pausing for a moment, his facing burning with shame, Harry swallowed heavily. "She tried to castrate me, Ginny did. Dunno where she learnt it, but she came really close to hexing my bits off. Ended up in St Mungo's that night when I couldn't get the bleeding to stop."

Snape drew a sharp breath. "Just how close did she come?"

"My leg. Here," replied Harry, pointing at a spot near the top of his left thigh. "It wasn't very long, but it was deep, and I'm pants at casting healing charms on myself. It's hard to get the angle of the wand right when you're pointing it at yourself.

"The whole place went quiet when I got there. Three mediwitches walked right by me like I was invisible, even though I had blood streaming down my leg. You'd think I had spattergroit or Veela pox or something. But that picture with Wood was everywhere, me on my knees with this ridiculous blissed-out look on my face and Wood's cock down my throat."

"It was when I got back to Grimmauld Place that I discovered that Sirius' mum wasn't only opposed to Gryffindors, half-bloods, blood traitors and Muggleborns. She also didn’t take too kindly to my sort. Was Sirius queer as well, do you know? Because that house is dead set against any 'unnatural heathens' setting foot in it."

"Unnatural heathens?" For a moment, Snape was tempted to laugh, but Harry was in no state to share in the absurdity of it all. "For as many times as I set foot in that place, unwillingly to be sure, I cannot say I sensed any particular malevolence on the house's part. What makes you believe it's cursed?"

Harry levelled him with _that_ look, the one that implied he was an idiot without coming right out and saying so. "None of the doors would open, the lanterns wouldn't hold a _Lumos_ spell, the fireplace refused to burn, water wouldn't come out of the faucets, the stove wouldn't heat, the curtains tried to strangle me, the stairs vanished out from under me, the books in the library attacked me, and let's not forget Walburga's three-day diatribe on the indecency of homosexuality, so I ask again, was Sirius queer? I mean, I _know_ she hated him."

For reasons Snape was unwilling to examine too closely, he was reluctant to answer, knowing almost any answer would hurt. But he owed Harry that much, at least. "As I remember it, Sirius was thought to be unrepentantly pansexual and Regulus was bisexual. I must admit, though, that I was never close enough to either of them to know for certain. I offer only my impressions and what few facts I gleaned over the years. Certainly, your godfather was very close to both your father and Lupin."

Harry thought for a moment. "Is it possible, do you suppose, that my father was bi?"

"Are you seeking an explanation for your own orientation?"

"I suppose I am," admitted Harry with a sigh. "I don't want this, Sir. I've had years to think about it, and this is not how I want to be."

No magic wand, not even the Elder Wand, could grant Harry's wish. Snape knew it and, for one of the few times in his life, wished he had something more to offer than platitudes. He could not force Harry to accept how things were, but if he did have one wish, he'd be tempted to use it for this, if for nothing else than to ease Harry's pain. "You didn't want to be the child of prophecy, either," he replied. "But you were and you found a way to live with it. Is this so very different?"

"Of course it is," Harry declared vehemently. "People died to protect me, Snape. People suffered because of me. Now, they hate me. Some have even spit in my face, and for what? An accident of birth? Some defect in my character? I have nothing to offer to explain why I'm this way. I just am!"

There was a long silence. "Do you owe them an explanation, Potter? Can you not simply live as your biology dictates?"

It seemed as if Harry would never run out of tears, and Snape cupped his face with his elegant hands and thumbed them away. "You can, if you wish, find a way to live a staid heterosexual life. You might even be able to manage to have sexual intercourse with your wife a few times a year and, with luck, get her with child. You can live a lie and loathe yourself with every fibre of your being, channelling all of your positive thoughts onto your children. Many gay men have done so, out of fear or shame or denial of their nature. They truly do love their wives and their children, but they hate themselves with the same intensity you once reserved for me.

"I would not wish that for you. Though it pains me to admit this, I want to see you happy. I want to see your face when your beloved steps through the door. I want to see you fifty years from now, secure in the knowledge that you love and are loved by someone who accepts you as you are."

"Gay men," Harry snarled through his tears, "do not fall in love. They do not have relationships, and they sure as fuck are not happy." He sobbed out a laugh. "Who the hell ever decided we were 'gay'?"

"Harry—"

"No. Leave it, Sir. I've spent the last three years trying to come to terms with what I am and I just can't. If you want to know what happened after I left Grimmauld Place, I'll tell you, but please don't try to tell me that gay life is all unicorns and rainbows because I know better.

"I was raped just a few weeks after leaving the wizarding world behind me. It was my own fault, thinking that a wand was enough to protect me from Muggles. I should have known better, since my uncle managed to knock me about a few times anyway.

"I turned him down, Snape. I said no and backed away, wondering what the hell it was about me that screamed queer to anyone who looked. Was it my size? The way I spoke? The way I moved? What? I've no idea, but they always know. Always.

"He was a Muggle and it was crowded, otherwise I would have Apparated and not worried about the Ministry. I thought they might have been looking for me, and I didn't want them to know I was still in London, so magic was something that I used only in emergencies. I turned and tried to leave, but I didn't know the place and found myself boxed in straight away.

"I lost my wand then," said Harry morosely. "That was the worst part. It's not that I didn't care what he was doing to me, I did, but I'd just lost the one thing that might have kept me safe. Why would I want to be part of that lifestyle?" He spat the word out of his mouth as if it burnt his tongue.

"You do realise that 'the gay lifestyle' is about as grounded in reality as having a wife, two dunderheaded children and a crup, yes?"

"But—"

"Yes, there are straight people who have all that, and I have no doubt that the exalted Mr and Mrs Weasley will embrace their duty with all the fervour of true believers, but what of Arthur and Molly, who defied convention and had seven children? What of the Malfoys, who had but Draco? What of Minerva, who was widowed and never remarried? Or Aberforth, who remains to this day single?"

"Aberforth prefers goats," muttered Harry.

"The point is, Harry, that I cannot name anyone who is married with two children and a crup. Can you?" Snape waited patiently for Harry to say anything, but the young man folded his arms across his chest and glared mutinously at him.

Snape sighed. "You left, or were evicted from Grimmauld Place, yes? And could not return to the flat you once shared with your friends?"

The fight left Harry's voice as he spoke. "Correct on both counts. I set the wards at Grimmauld Place as best as I could and tried to go back to my flat, to get my things if nothing else, but I couldn't get in. I went to Diagon Alley for a few necessities and was refused entry into some of the shops. The Leaky Cauldron wouldn't serve me. Quality Quidditch requested I leave and not return.

"I went to Knockturn Alley, thinking they might be a bit more sympathetic, but unless I wanted to smuggle in illegal potions ingredients or trade in Dark artefacts, I couldn't find work there, either." Harry's lips twisted in distaste. "Unless I wanted to be a whore, of course. There was money to be had in that.

"I don't think it was because I'm queer, not entirely," he said quietly. "I suspect that it was because _Harry Potter_ turned out to be bent. For anyone else, yeah, it would have mattered and they'd be ignored or talked about behind their backs, maybe hexed a time or two. But the Chosen One, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, has to be an ordinary bloke, someone you'd bring home to mum and dad."

"A hero is never appreciated in his own lifetime," said Snape entirely without irony. "I presume you have a sex life of sorts since you mentioned you're seldom asked what you enjoy, but do you actually know any gay people? Have you any gay friends?"

Harry looked stricken. "I don't know," he said hesitantly, "that I have any friends at all."

"You are systematically destroying my faith in the entire human race," groaned Snape. "I have one more question for you before I tuck you in for the night."

"Tuck me in?" asked Harry incredulously, though a shadow of wistfulness underscored his words. "You are actually planning to tuck me in? No offense, Sir, but have you ever done that before?"

"I was Head of Slytherin House for years, Potter. I know you believe us all to be heartless and conniving bastards, but homesickness is not unusual in eleven year-olds. I have comforted and, yes, tucked in any number of distraught children over the years."

"I'm not a child, Sir," Harry reminded him "Haven't been one for ages."

"I'm not convinced you've ever been one, though that is neither here nor there," replied Snape. "You've had no one else to rely on for a long time now and, whether you agree with me or not, being treated with a modicum of kindness is the very least you deserve, and it is my pleasure to do so. Fair enough?"

Harry lowered his eyes and nodded. "Fair enough, Sir. What was that other thing you wanted to know?"

"I would like you to tell me about the day you arrived here. I am still interested in how you managed to Apparate into my hallway without even knowing I was alive."

"I've no idea." Harry drew his bottom lip between his teeth as his brow furrowed in thought. "It was just another day. I'd wandered down the South Bank, past London Bridge, and walked across to the other side of the river. I don't usually cross over, Sir, but I was hungry and not having much luck at finding anything edible in the usual places. I remember stopping to take off my jacket and put it in my knapsack, then my head exploded.

"I'm not sure how many there were. Three, maybe four. They got my knapsack and when they found out there wasn't anything of value in it, they turned on me, and all I could think was to Apparate to somewhere safe. The last thing I remember is bright yellow hair and wondering if they'd cut my arm off. I woke to find Draco holding a wand on me and you know the rest.

"What happens next?" asked Harry finally, exhaustion painting dark circles under his eyes.

Snape studied Harry carefully. "A sleeping potion, I believe. I have some things to consider, and I wish to speak to Draco before I make any decisions regarding your future."

"I don't appreciate people making decisions on my behalf, Sir, especially if I am not involved in them," Harry said sharply as he took the draught. "I had enough of that growing up. As I said, I'm a fair hand with a dust rag, and I prefer to earn my keep. If you've not got any work for me, I'll leave in the morning." A sudden yawn overtook him and he swayed.

Seeing that Harry didn't have the strength to battle a pygmy puff, Snape helped Harry lie down, covering him with the soft sheet and warm duvet. "There is plenty of work here that needs doing, but until I've spoken to Draco, I will not be able to determine how best to make use of your abilities. If, as you say, you trust me, then I ask that you allow me, as your potential employer, to do what is best for both of us."

Fighting to keep his eyes open for a little while longer, Harry rolled over to face Snape. "I…it's just been so long since I've been in control of anything. Can't you see that, Sir?" he pleaded.

Snape's fingers trailed softly over the planes of Harry's face while paying heed to all Harry had said. There was a theme developing quite apart from the issues about Harry's sexuality he chose to surround himself with and Snape was determined to collect every piece of the puzzle. "It is my belief that you don't need to be in control, Harry. You need to not feel out of control. I know the difference is subtle, but it exists nonetheless." Dull green eyes stared at him, and he knew Harry didn't have the energy to spend on anything that required thought.

"Turn over, Potter. Let me hold you until you fall asleep."

It was weariness to the point of collapse that brought tears to Harry's eyes. "I would like that, Sir," he whispered as he turned, pressing back against Snape's warm body.

By the time Snape pulled him close, Harry was a dead weight in his arms.

* * * * * *

  
For once Harry wasn't up with the sun, and Snape took advantage of that to catch up on some sleep of his own. Still, he woke earlier than usual to keep his meeting with Draco that morning. As Harry was still asleep when he was ready to leave, Snape scribbled out a note so he wouldn't worry and, leaving word with Seth, he left Salazar’s and headed toward the Tube station.

When he arrived at the cosy café Draco had selected for their appointment, Snape scowled a good morning to their server and ordered a full English breakfast with black coffee.

Draco arched a brow as he calmly sipped his tea and waited for Snape to acknowledge his presence. "Given your bright, sunny disposition, I surmise things are proceeding apace." His voice rose slightly at the end of the sentence, giving Snape an opportunity to respond to it as he chose.

Snape's scowl deepened into a sneer. "'Things are proceeding?' What 'things' might those be?" Merlin help him, if Draco so much as insinuated that he was inquiring about Snape's sex life, he would spend the remainder of his days as a ferret.

Draco chuckled as he popped a small grape in his mouth and bit through it. "Unravelling the mystery of Potter's life, of course. If you believe I meant anything else by that, then I'm going to have to reassess."

For one brief, ludicrous moment, Snape felt like he was having a conversation with Harry's guardian, and he levelled a steady gaze at Draco. "There are any number of things I might have surmised, several of which would have caused great offense."

To his surprise, Draco nodded soberly. "As I am becoming aware. How is he this morning?"

"Dead to the world, as he needs to be. The Sleeping Draught I've been giving him is very strong. We had quite a long conversation a few nights ago, one he did not suffer well. He is...." Uncharacteristically, Snape fished for a word that would summarise his changed view of Harry Potter. "Fragile in many ways, unbroken in others. He survived three full years on the streets with nothing to aid him except his wits. The betrayal of his friends still pains him deeply."

Draco selected a piece of toast and buttered it delicately. "Betrayal? Are you saying the Weasleys had a hand in all this?"

Snape drained his coffee cup and shook his head. Glancing around for their server, he waved his empty cup in his direction. "No, but I've not yet had the opportunity to question the charming ex-fiancée."

"You do realise you're dead, right?" asked Draco, setting down his knife and gazing at Snape with thoughtful grey eyes. "Dead, buried, mourned by some, ignored by most. I can show you your grave, if you'd like. Potter managed to be tasteful when he selected your headstone."

Snape's heart skipped a beat, then stumbled and sprinted to make up for it. "That task was left to Potter?"

"He insisted," Draco replied casually, as if this should have been old news. "I'm certain we'd told you."

"It must have slipped your mind," said Snape dryly. He leant back as his coffee cup was refilled and took a small sip. "I would like to speak with Ms. Weasley, with all of the Weasleys come to that. Except Percy and the surviving twin. I don't think either of them can shed any more light on all that transpired that weekend."

"Why are you so intent on digging up the past? Weren't you the one who told me that the past was behind us and that it would do no good to linger there? Sage words from the man who spent twenty years of his life doing just that, by the way."

"And what did I have to show for it at the end, Draco? Answer me that," challenged Snape, his voice rising with every syllable. "Twenty years of servitude to a pair of madmen, one of whom showed me a modicum of kindness at times, though it seldom slowed him from placing me in harm's way. I have earned my peace, every moment of it, and if I wish to sacrifice some small portion of it to him, then who are you to deny me?"

The small café went silent as Snape's voice echoed off the yellow papered walls, and his coal black eyes swept the room before settling on a man dressed in a well-pressed suit, daring him to complain.

Colouring slightly under the scrutiny of the other patrons, Draco nevertheless captured and held Snape's gaze. "Be very clear about your motivations, Severus. If, as you say, he is fragile, you could bollocks this up ten ways from Sunday and leave him in worse shape than he now."

The vein in Snape's forehead twitched, and he dug savagely into his breakfast as though the pig hadn't been slaughtered sufficiently the first time. "Eat," he snarled as he hunched over his own plate of food. It wasn't anything that hadn't already occurred to him and as much as he loathed asking for advice, in some respects Draco understood Harry better than he did.

Saying nothing, Draco cut a small bite of blood sausage with such precision that Snape couldn't help but wonder if he planned to submit it for a mark. He swallowed delicately, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin, then placing it back in his lap. "Have you finished being an arse yet?" he asked calmly.

Pushing some hash browned potatoes onto his fork with a piece of toast, Snape nodded. "Do not think to get an apology from me." He ate a few more bites, leaving only a bit of sausage and a few mushrooms on his plate. "What would you like to know?"

Draco rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, considering the question for a moment. "What happened with Wood?"

Briefly, Snape summarised all that happened to Harry from the time he began with the Pride of Portree to his self-imposed exile from the wizarding world, omitting the part about the various positions Harry had held while he worked in Diagon Alley.

“There are several requests I would like to make of you," said Snape when he'd finished revising Harry's personal history for Draco's edification. If he was to have a co-conspirator, it was best to keep him well informed.

Waving off more tea, Draco scooted closer to the table. "I'm all ears. Just kindly do remember that you're still dead and that, officially speaking, I've no bloody clue where Potter is holed up. If you wish to change either of those facts, I'll need time."

Snape shook his head, his dark hair brushing against the tops of his shoulders. "I've not decided yet the extent to which I want anyone outside of your family to know of my continued existence. However, should I choose to be resurrected, you will be the first to know. Here's what I do want: sound out the Healers at St Mungo's, and see if they would entertain the notion of Potter's return.

"Speak with Shacklebolt if you can, and see how likely it would be that the Wizengamot would allow him to return to the Auror Corps. I expect Potter would decline, especially in light of Ronald's position within their ranks, but I would like to know if his reinstatement is even possible.

"Third, I would like you to speak with, and I cannot believe I am saying this, Neville Longbottom. Find out who Potter's true friends are. I suspect the Longbottoms will be able to assemble a group who support Potter and would welcome him with open arms.

"Lastly, I want to know what became of Potter's belongings. The Black Family estate, do you know it?"

"Yes, but what do the Blacks have to do with this?" asked Draco, almost reeling from the breadth of Snape's requests.

Snape felt the old hatred stirring in his breast and fought to contain it. "While it displays an appalling amount of optimism, I am hoping that one of that lot would have been gracious enough to return Potter's belongings to his own home. I wonder if it is still under Fidelius?"

Draco shook his head. "If you're referring to Grimmauld Place, then no. The Fidelius fell during the war. My father was one of the old crowd who went through it to see if they could find something that would lead them to Potter. They left it in rather good shape, considering. The blood wards are still standing so house will admit me. I'll poke around this afternoon.

"As for your other requests, it might help if I knew why he left St Mungo's before I start asking the wrong questions."

Grief darkened Snape's eyes and an expression of pain flitted across his harsh features. "A child died, Draco, and Harry claimed responsibility," he said quietly.

"What happened?" frowned Draco. "If this was due to his incompetence—"

"How dare you think that?" snarled Snape, seething with rage. "How dare you think I would work to further his pursuit of something he truly loved if I thought him a danger?"

Draco's face paled at coming face to face with Snape's anger, but softened as he studied his erstwhile professor for a long moment. "Are you in love with him?" he asked gently.

Snape sputtered, his sallow cheeks suddenly stained with colour. "What sort of question is that?" he hissed as his fingers began a tarantallegra over the flotsam of their meal.

"You are far too agitated for that to be a 'no'," observed Draco. "For how long?"

Snape slumped back in his seat, and his eyes grew distant. He stared out the window at the steady stream of passersby as his mind absently assigned a purpose or a destination to each. A group of tourists tried to make heads or tails of a street map to find, most likely, the nearest Tube station. That woman over there was on her way to Boots for headache powder. The skinny man eyeing a break in traffic was on his way to an audition.

"Forever, I think."

Shaking off his melancholy, Snape sat up. "And before you start placing any unholy thoughts in your head, it was the day he cursed you in the bathroom that I knew for certain."

"He was magnificent, wasn't he?" said Draco with an understanding smile. "All fierce pride at what he'd managed to accomplish and horror with what he'd achieved. Yes, I saw it, too."

"Tell him, and I'll cut your heart out with a spoon," said Snape, his voice hard.

Draco threw back his head and laughed. "So it will hurt more? I've seen that film as well."

Snape blinked, and then buried his face in his hands. "I've become my own caricature."

"No, you haven't. Answer me this, then I'll go. Why are you doing this? I mean, I understand about being in love with someone, but it seems to me you're paving his way back to our world, and I know you well enough to know you've no intention of returning there yourself."

"And I'll pave the road back with my own bones if it means he's happy," said Snape vehemently. "The reaction of his friends, his chosen family, have led him to loathe himself. He sees himself as someone with no worth, and he's so terribly wrong about that.

"I cannot help him achieve his one true wish—no one can—but if he can find his way back to someplace like St Mungo's and begin again, this time with the assurance that his adoring public won't drive him off, he might discover that he still has a great deal to offer."

"What's Potter wish?"

Picking up a sugar packet, Snape toyed with it for a moment before tossing it into the centre of the table. "He believes he wants to be heterosexual, which is not to say he can't make another attempt at living that life, but I rather suspect he'd suffer the same outcome."

"That definitely places a boulder or two in the middle of your road to happiness, doesn't it?" At seeing the sour expression on Snape's face, Draco's hands came up to ward it away and he laughed. "Okay, okay. Sore subject."

"I find my sense of humour has worn a bit thin."

"What sense of humour?" scoffed Draco. "You've never had one, not for as long as I've known you. Not until recently, at any rate."

"That would be the one," said Snape dryly. "There is something I need from you."

"Besides the laundry list of tasks you've set me?" Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before resting his pointed chin in the palm of his slender hand. "What else do you need?"

"Advice. Potter still has enough stiff-necked pride to insist he earn his keep, though I am quite leery about assigning him to any heavy tasks. As you've something of a head for business and are familiar with his condition, what would you suggest?"

"Hmmm." While he thought, Draco rearranged the small packets of jams they'd been served earlier. "Get his glasses replaced and teach him how to keep the books. By all accounts, he's a very quick study. I'd also give him some real, though not critical, responsibilities. Put him in charge of supplies or the rooms downstairs. Whatever it is, make certain it's necessary. He's smart enough to know the difference between real work and busy work.

"Oh, and not too many hours a day to start. He's much weaker than he realises, and it would be just like him to push himself into a nasty bout of pneumonia or something." Draco's fine blond brows knit into a puzzled furrow. "Did you ever find out how he ended up in your entryway?"

"Magic." At Draco's cold look, he explained. "Wandless, wordless Apparation," Snape replied. "Without knowing anything more about his destination than 'somewhere safe'."

Draco leant back and whistled. "Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? Have you any idea how much sheer power that takes? And this is the wizard we pissed off?" Something dark and troubled entered his eyes. "I can't help but think sometimes that being discovered by Muggles might be the best thing that ever happened to us. Maybe we'd grow up." He stood and tossed a few notes onto the table.

Snape laid a hand on Draco's forearm. "Be careful what you wish for," he intoned gravely. "I've survived two conflicts. I have no desire to see a third."

Draco nodded tightly and started to step away, before turning back. "Sev? I truly do wish you happy."

* * * * * *

  
Coming into the office to retrieve the keys to the wine vault, Snape leant against the doorway and watched as Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. Processed invoices were stacked neatly to one side of the inventory sheets Harry was preparing, while the ones he had finished were set face down across the desk.

The office was spare, almost spartan, with two desks set in opposite corners. While the rest of the staff thought Snape's abhorrence of all things digital to be some charming quirk of personality, he knew Harry understood why they had few electronic pieces of equipment. Magic and laptops were a bad combination, but that wasn't something that could be readily explained to the others.

There was only minimal interference with electrical gadgets. The adding machine worked more often than not, something for which Harry had expressed eternal gratitude. Snape knew Harry's skill with maths was largely non-existent, having spent too many years not needing to use anything more complicated than rudimentary arithmetic. He smiled as Harry sighed, picked up the next invoice and entered the current price of tomatoes onto the page before doing the same for cherry tomatoes.

In the three weeks since they had spent the night together in a conversation that had flayed Snape's heart wide open at times, Harry had been allowed to spend several hours a day on various bookkeeping projects, learning how the back office of the restaurant operated. The work was occasionally tedious, but Snape was paying him a fair wage and not asking any more of him than he was able to give.

Snape moved almost silently through the office and was unsurprised when Harry jumped at the sound of a drawer opening behind him.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry breathed, turning in his chair to face him. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously," replied Snape with a grin, amused at the continual look of surprise on Harry's face. He couldn't help but wonder if Harry would ever get used to seeing him smile. "Relax. I won't bite."

"So I've discovered," Harry replied as he turned back to face the stack of work. When Snape rested a hand on his shoulder to peer at the work he had completed, Harry drew away. "You, uhh, probably shouldn't do that, Sir. What if someone comes in? I don't want to cause any trouble with the others. Besides, I think Seth really likes you."

An enlightening thing for Harry to say. "Seth wants me to fuck him," replied Snape bluntly as he pulled himself erect and withdrew his hand, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. "He's well aware of my thoughts on the matter."

"Which are?"

Having noticed the way Harry stiffened every time he saw him engaged in conversation with Seth, Snape couldn't help but wonder if Harry was becoming vaguely jealous of his Head of Housekeeping. As Seth was an integral part of the staff, though, avoiding him was entirely out of the question. Still, he made a mental note of Harry's interest with an eye toward watching for problems in the future.

"This is an adult establishment, Potter, and I expect everyone to conduct themselves accordingly. Relationships between members of the staff, including management, are not forbidden, but if there is but one violation of the rules, the dominant partner will be discharged, no questions asked.

"As this is my establishment, I must, at times, set myself beyond the rules. I cannot very well sack myself, therefore should I choose to fuck anyone who works here, I must have the approval of the entire staff. As I have never submitted Seth's name for consideration, the answer is no."

"Really?" Harry squeaked, his cheeks bursting into flame as curiosity filled his eyes. At seeing Snape's speculative look, he quickly turned his attention to the invoice from the butcher, his sudden diffidence clearly feigned. "Why not? He's a decent enough bloke." He backtracked almost immediately. "Forget I asked. It's really none of my business, Sir," he said, though it was obvious he truly wanted to know.

The words hung heavily between them and Snape started to delve deeper into this new mystery before thinking better of it. "I came in here to ask you to assist me with inventory this afternoon," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "And to invite you to dine with me this evening."

A delighted smile spread across Harry's face, and he relaxed almost immediately. "You're giving me more to do? That's brilliant! Did you meet with Draco today? Is that why I get more work?"

Snape reached out unconsciously, his fingertips mere inches from Harry's face before he caught Harry's sudden intake of breath and dropped his hand. Harry’s green eyes darkened and he bit lightly on his lower lip. Snape could barely breathe. _Beautiful._

"Yes, I spoke with Draco after your examination," he said after a long moment spent trying to collect himself. "He is very pleased with your progress and believes you are ready to undertake a slightly more rigorous schedule. He would also like to see you spend a bit more time outside."

Harry's eyes danced with joy. "I will if you will, Sir. I'd be happy to work in the gardens too, if you'd like. We could grow some of the herbs Deena uses in the kitchens. I reckon you're a fair hand with plants."

"We'll see." It was Snape's standard non-committal answer, though it was delivered with an enigmatic half-smile. He had to admit it sounded charmingly domestic. "And dinner?"

"If you'd like," replied Harry with a grin. "Who did you invite this time?"

Snape shook his head and sighed. "Have I mentioned you are incorrigible, Potter?"

"At least forty times before," Harry said with a perfectly straight face, and some of the light left his eyes. "I know what you're trying to do, and don't think I'm not grateful, but I don't see how this is going to change anything."

Undeterred by Harry's remark, Snape said, "We're dining with Stephen and Gareth tonight. You quite enjoyed their company last time and they were very taken with you. I believe they plan to invite you to spend a weekend with them up in the Lake District." He was determined to change Harry's perceptions even if it meant introducing Harry to every queer person he knew.

Harry shut down almost instantly, his expression carefully blank, his eyes neutral. "I think I've enough saved now to get a couple of changes of clothes at the charity shop on Anfield Close. I was hoping to be able to afford a pair of boots, but I'll manage well enough without. Excuse me."

Snape suspected he knew the reason Harry was making noise about leaving, but he nevertheless wanted to hear it from Harry's lips. "You do realise they meant for a brief holiday, yes?" His voice, biting and hard, stopped Harry in his tracks. "That they merely wanted to give you an opportunity to get to know them away from here?" He reached for Harry's arm and spun him around. "It is an invitation, Potter, nothing more. Do you think I would even broach the subject with you if I did not trust them implicitly?"

It was then he realised Harry was shaking like a leaf. "Upstairs, Potter. It is apparent to me that we need to talk."

Harry nodded and allowed Snape to escort him up the stairs to the rooms they still shared. As a general rule, Harry was about as complicated as a colouring book, but there were still occasions when he was able to confound Snape past imagining. At times like this, though, Snape was torn between shaking some sense into him and holding him close until the fear left his eyes.

As Harry curled up in a corner of the small sofa that decorated their sitting room, Snape paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. "I almost wish you were wearing robes," Harry said wistfully. "I never did figure out how you made them move the way they did."

"It was a charm of my own invention," replied Snape automatically as he considered and rejected any number of theories to explain Harry's behaviour. "Potter, what went through your mind when I mentioned the Muirwood-Smythe invitation?"

Removing his glasses, Harry rested his head on the arm of the sofa. "I went downstairs, like they do," he admitted in a low voice, ducking his head when Snape surrendered a resigned sigh. "Sunday night, when no one answered the phone downstairs."

Snape sat down on the couch next to him, afraid to imagine what Harry might have encountered in the dungeons that occupied the floors below. "I had hoped to put this off for a few more weeks, but I see that I should have trusted my instincts where you're concerned. Tell me what you saw."

Harry closed his eyes. "Brandt," he said. "The one with the curly hair."

Snape's mind stuttered to halt. It wasn't his last choice of clients for Harry to stumble across, but he was certainly in the bottom ten.

Harry drew a deep breath, then released it in a torrent of words. "He was spread between two posts, I think they were using chains, but I couldn't tell. There was blood running down his legs, not a lot, but some. They'd skewered his nipples and hung weights off the ends and his bollocks were wrapped up in something, the tops were, and he had, like, pendulums hanging from them. And there was a woman I didn't recognise whipping him with this weird lash that had loads of streamers on it, like a cat o'nine tails. And every time the lash hit his back, he'd scream and his whole body would jerk and the weights would start swaying and he'd scream even more."

"For how long did you watch?" asked Snape, wondering how much Harry knew about the activities that took place at Salazar's, and how much of his fear was fuelled by a stereotypical misunderstanding of those who embraced an alternative lifestyle. He knew Harry was aware that whips and chains were a literal part of Snape's business, but that was a very different thing from seeing them in use.

"Not long," he said, his voice shaking. "Two, maybe three minutes. I checked the room next door for you as well, but you weren't in there, either, so I came back upstairs. Nia was back up front by the time I got there. I gave her the message and came up here to go to bed. I'd reckon it was well over an hour before you came in."

"How many people were in the first room, Potter?" asked Snape as he tried to remember who had used the facilities that night, and what sorts of activities they preferred to engage in. He sincerely hoped Harry hadn't witnessed any of the more extreme forms of play.

"Umm..." Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember. "Three or four. It's hard to say."

Certainly long enough to form a lasting impression. Snape couldn't help but wonder if Harry's dreams, restive at the best of times, would take a turn for the worse. "And in the next room?"

"Three blokes shagging a fourth," he whispered, his face nearly grey.

Snape was momentarily confused and he wondered if Harry meant that literally. "As you well know, this is one of the most critically acclaimed dungeons in all of London," Snape explained slowly, his eyes intent on Harry's face. "I am Master here. Nia has embarked on a painfully slow journey toward becoming a Mistress in her own right. Salazar's has ten themed rooms, ten fully equipped dungeons, a specialised restaurant and a number of other amenities we offer to our clients."

Harry nodded. "I kind of figured it out. You've dropped hints about what goes on in the basements, but…" He curled up into a tight ball as his eyes grew distant. "It's torture," he croaked.

Something in Harry's eyes told Snape he was no longer thinking of the basement. "Yes, in some cases it is," he agreed. "We offer training sessions in the use of equipment, classes for Dominants and submissives, demonstrations by some of the most respected names in the business and, most importantly, we guarantee that our clients are able to play in a safe and clean environment where they will not be judged for their proclivities."

Harry grew ashen. "That's what you think I've done, isn't it?" he said unsteadily. "Judged you unfairly. But Brandt was screaming, Sir, and Eddie had three cocks shoved into him—and he's got a lover! How do you explain something like that?"

Strongly suspecting Harry was drawn to something that both attracted and repelled him, Snape attempted to explain. "What you witnessed, Harry, were two very different dynamics in play. Brandt is deeply masochistic. For him, pain is quite literally pleasurable. Part of it is simple biology, the other part is purely psychological. The more it hurts, the more it excites him. Given your own history, I cannot imagine you ever truly enjoying pain."

Harry cringed slightly and shook his head. "I…I…no. No."

"Shhh," Snape soothed. "You're safe, Harry. No one will ever hurt you. I will not allow it, do you understand?" To his relief, he saw some of the tension leave Harry's body. "Now, let's talk about Eddie and Gavin. Do you recollect if Gavin was one of the three?"

Harry looked at Snape through haunted eyes, searching his memory. "I'm not sure if I saw him there or not. Mostly I was looking at Eddie and the two guys behind him. I didn't pay much attention to the one he was, well, umm, sucking off." As he spoke, his cheeks turned bright pink and he lowered his eyes.

Gavin and Eddie were amongst Snape's oldest clients and, having played with them a time or two in the past, he was fond of both men. "Knowing them as I do, I would hazard a guess that Eddie was fellating Gavin," mused Snape. "You are aware that Eddie wears Gavin's collar."

Harry nodded, though he kept his eyes averted. "I remember meeting them at dinner a couple of weeks ago. You were trying to explain their relationship to me, but I sort of tuned out when Eddie started talking about surrendering control. I don't know how anyone can live like that, just being told what to do all the time without even knowing why."

"Every night," said Snape, hoping that by using an example of Harry's own behaviour, he would understand what Eddie had been talking about. "When I come to bed, I find the covers turned down. There are fresh towels in the bathroom. The tea service is set up and the next day's orders are set on the sideboard. The sitting room," he continued, gesturing with his hand, "is kept spotless and I know I don't have Seth to thank. He's not been permitted access to these rooms since you arrived."

"Yeah, well, I like things orderly," Harry mumbled.

"Is that so?" When Harry said nothing, Snape continued. "I believe if you examine your own motivations carefully, you will understand Gavin and Eddie better than you suspect. What you must remember is that Eddie wants nothing more than to make Gavin happy, and having limits placed on his behaviour gives Eddie a sense of security. Nearly everything he does is done with an eye towards pleasing Gavin.

"Now, what has you worried about spending time away from here with Stephen and Gareth?"

"I just don't want to go, okay?" said Harry defensively, still avoiding making eye contact with Snape. "If you want to submit a name or if you've a boyfriend you want to bring home, just tell me and I'll clear out."

There was something lurking under Harry's words, but Snape couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him. Harry was extraordinarily gifted at ensuring that the people in his life, those he permitted to get close to him, all felt appreciated, but he was far too quick to step aside when he thought someone more deserving was waiting in the wings.

"I am satisfied with my life at the moment, Potter," said Snape as he studied Harry carefully. "I do not require additional companionship."

Something dark and feral flashed briefly in Harry's eyes. "I still don't want to go."

"Tell me the truth, Harry." Though Snape's voice was soft, there was an undeniable note of command.

Harry pulled out of Snape's arms and paced nervously throughout the room. "You want them to teach me how to be gay. You want to turn me into them."

Snape leant back as Harry prowled, enjoying the effect of the midday sun shining through the soft white cassock, illuminating the lithe figure within. Though Harry had balked initially at discovering that Snape intended to provide him with no other apparel, he'd long since grown accustomed to wearing it. "There are two problems with that: first, no one can teach you to be gay. Second, I prefer you as you are."

"Why are you so determined to deny your nature?" Snape continued, his frustration clear. "What do you think you'll be giving up? Yes, in some ways life is harder for us, but once you realise you cannot control what people think of you, you will soon discover that their opinions never mattered in the first place.

"All I want is for you to be happy, Harry, but you cannot do that if you are lying to yourself and to the people you love. Those who love you, truly love you, will accept you as you are, the same way they accepted that you were more than the scar on your forehead; much, much more than the Boy-Who-Lived."

"They abandoned me, Sev, when they found out what I am," Harry shouted, his eyes over-bright. "Once word got out, no one wanted anything to do with me. Not one Floo call, not one owl. Not a single smile or friendly hello. I can't...I don't think I can go through that again." His voice broke on the last word, and he curled up in the window seat and stared out at the Heath.

"And to whom did you reach out for help? Kingsley? Arthur and Molly? God help me, Longbottom? Did you ever give Minerva and Hagrid a chance? Did you let any of them know you were in need? I need not remind you how readily and often Ronald turned on you, but the rest of us never did."

"You died!"

Snape's colour faded. When he spoke, his voice was sad and gentle. "So did you, Harry, when you stepped through the Leaky Cauldron and left your world behind."

Clearly stricken, Harry rose on shaky legs and crossed over to the sofa, where he curled up once again next to Snape and was silent for a very long time.

* * * * * *

  
"You look like shit," said Draco as he handed Snape a glass of sherry. He, Astoria and Snape had enjoyed a simple meal of lamb stew with a loaf of fresh crusty bread. Now it was time to tell Snape what he'd managed to accomplish in the six weeks since their last meeting. "As much as you don't want to hear this, perhaps it's time to throw Potter out of your bed."

Snape's fingers tightened around his glass, and for a moment he gave some consideration to throwing it at him. "No," said Snape flatly as Draco poured himself a healthy measure of cognac. "I prefer knowing where he is."

"You're not getting enough sleep," said Draco, sitting down and crossing his long legs at the ankle. "I know what it's like to sleep next to someone you're attracted to without being able to do a damned thing about it. This has been going on for months, Sev. Either fuck him or find him somewhere else to sleep."

Snape's lips tightened into a thin line. "Have you invited me here to insult me?"

"For fuck's sake, Severus, grow a pair," growled Draco in response. "It's not an insult to your sexuality to acknowledge that you have a sex life. I know you're in love with him, so don't bother putting on airs for my benefit. Christ, you're the last person I'd expect to become missish. There's being sensitive and there's looking for insults, and you're coming dangerously close to the latter."

There was a brief pause before Snape raised his glass to Draco. "Well, well," he said, his tone slightly mocking. "It appears that a Malfoy has, at long last, grown up." He took a sip. "Enlighten me, Draco. Who have you slept with who set fire to your blood?"

"Astoria's pregnant." Offering Snape a bit of a shy smile, Draco ducked his head. "She's three months along. That's why she's not joined us." He took a sip of his drink and sighed happily. "She's having a rough go of it, though, so we've not, errr—"

"Fucked?" Snape supplied helpfully. "Nevertheless, I offer my felicitations for your happy news. I trust you will pass my best wishes on to your wife." It was nearly impossible to tell whether he was serious or not.

"I will, thank you," said Draco with a nod of his head. "Mother and Father are delighted, of course."

"Of course," said Snape gravely, his face a mask. He kept whatever thoughts might be going through his head well hidden.

"We're considering asking Potter to stand as godfather."

"Potter?" Snape asked in amazement. "Godfather to a Malfoy?" His face darkened. "Be very certain about this, Draco. I won't see him in a position to be hurt, not if I can help it."

"I know," replied Draco. "We've not decided anything, but I wanted to let you know we're giving the idea our full consideration. It's hard to say whether this would help him rejoin the wizarding world or become another obstacle in his path. In any case, we wanted to discuss it with you first."

Scrubbing his chin with his hand, Snape mulled the proposal over for a few minutes before speaking. "I suspect you are aware that Potter has a godson, one he's not seen since the Granger-Weasley nuptials. Lupin and Tonks' son, Teddy. From what little he's told me, Potter takes his responsibilities quite seriously and feels rather guilty about being absent. It is yet another item on a very long list of things that are not Harry's fault."

There was no flicker of distaste in Draco's silver eyes, no sneer of disdain on his finely wrought features. "Yes, Teddy is a second cousin of mine, once-removed or something. I've met him a few times when Aunt Andromeda brought him in for potions and colds and what-not. He's a metamorphmagus, like his mum was."

"Any sign of lycanthropy?" Snape asked sharply, his fear of werewolves momentarily overriding his good sense.

"None whatsoever. Healthy little blighter." Draco smiled. "Sweet kid. Bright. You'd like him, I think."

Snape's expression grew sour. "Yes, I'm known throughout the land for my tender-hearted concern for dunderheaded idiot children. Have I not suffered enough, Draco?"

A broad grin split Draco's face. "Ahh, but you forget I knew you when I _was_ a dunderheaded child. You weren't half bad, Sev. You listened, you answered questions, and you treated me like a person. Trust me, Lucius and Mother could have taken a page from your book."

Snape knew Draco had been paraded around as little more than the Malfoy heir for most of his life, but he seemed to have finally developed a good sense of what he'd missed as a child. "Lucius is not known for his good judgment, but he does love you, Draco. To the extent he knows how. I am willing to wager that you are never far from his thoughts."

"If only to be his entry back into high society," said Draco bitterly. He sighed. "He's not quite grasped the fact that I'm no more welcome there than he is. Still, I was able to use his connections to get in to see the Minister. Even after all this time, there are still some people who hold the name 'Malfoy' in some regard, Merlin help them. The Wizengamot is as political as ever, but since the seats are tied to the pureblood houses, it will never change."

"You spoke to Kingsley, then?" asked Snape, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"Yes, but I'd like to save that for later. I also visited Grimmauld Place. I found a trunk in the entryway that looks like it could belong to Potter. The initials are right, and it's as heavily warded as a Gringotts vault. I had a bitch of a time removing it, but I was able to get Flint to assist me. He's working for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and he's pretty good at working with charmed objects. Want to see it?"

Surprised, Snape sat forward, setting his drink on a coaster on the side table. "Of course."

Brushing off his robes as he stood, Draco led Snape upstairs to a spare room at the back of the flat. Tall, paned windows lined two walls, and judging from the drop cloths spread haphazardly over the pine floorboards, the space was being converted into a nursery. In the corner sat an old school trunk with the initials HJP above the latch. "Astoria was none too happy with me for bringing it here, especially since it came from the Black estate. She's convinced it's cursed."

Dropping to one knee in front of the trunk, Snape closed his eyes and skimmed his fingertips over the lacquered surface of the chest. Harry's magic poured off it in waves, the signature intimately familiar to him. He murmured a hushed incantation and a soft smile came to his lips. "It is indeed Potter's and most certainly not cursed. Well protected, though. I should like to take it with me when I leave tonight."

Draco shook his head. "Let's leave it here for now. I think you'll agree once you hear what I have in mind."

Craning his head back, Snape gave Draco a sharp, penetrating look. "Very well. It's clear you have stories to tell, and I want to hear them."

A sly grin came to Draco's face and suddenly he looked fifteen again, revelling in his power, master of all he surveyed. He motioned to Snape and returned to the sitting room and settled back into his chair, snifter of cognac in hand. Were it not for the kindness in his eyes and the touches of good humour around his mouth, he would have been the spitting image of his father.

"I went to Hogwarts near the end of August," he said, once Snape had made himself comfortable. "McGonagall wouldn't see me, at least not straight away. Flitwick wanted nothing to do with me. Slughorn wouldn't give me the time of day. Hagrid either, but I didn't expect him to. Pince said hello, but she never leaves the library. After a lot of grovelling, Pomfrey agreed to give me five minutes of her time, mostly because I was wearing my Healer's robes."

Snape arched a brow. "You begged for a moment of Poppy's time? You?"

Studying his fingers a moment, Draco lifted his head and when he met Snape’s eyes, his own were filled with pain. "You might think it was humiliating, and it was, but it wasn't a hard thing to do, Sev. Not at all. All I could see was Potter's body when we had him in the bath. The sores. The lice. Every rib standing out. I remembered you shaving off his hair, how he looked like he was at death's door. Trust me, grovelling was easy compared to what he went through.

"When I told her I had news of Potter, well, she didn't believe me at first, but when I said he was in a bad way she sat down with me. She knew he was living in Muggle London. I told her about the night he arrived." He breathed an enormous sigh. "I had to dance around a lot of details, but she knows he's with another exile from the wizarding world."

His eyes grew thoughtful. "I reckon it's time for you to decide whether to stay dead and buried. I doubt he knows it yet, but Potter needs you. Regardless of which world he chooses, he'll not sever ties with you, if he has any choice in the matter."

A comfortable silence filled the room. "I will tell you my decision before I leave," said Snape finally, his black eyes revealing little. He remained still, his body language providing no clues either.

"I never quite understood why Mother insisted I carry a handkerchief with me, but Pomfrey—who's seen it all—was a mess by the time I finished. She can't understand why he didn't come to Hogwarts." Draco sank back in his chair. "They're all like that, Sev. No one understands why he didn't ask for help."

Leaning forward, Snape's eyes bored into Draco's. "Two questions: what did you tell them, and who is 'no one'?"

"Would you let me finish?" grumbled Draco irritably.

"Oh, yes," drawled Snape. "I had quite forgotten you're a born raconteur."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Anyway, once Madam Pomfrey was satisfied with the level of care I'm providing, she took me to see McGonagall." He took a sip of cognac, gazing into the amber liquid as if it were a crystal ball and held the secrets of the ages. "Some people will never forgive me, no matter what I do. In her eyes, I will always be a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.

"She misses you, you know. You and Potter are her lost boys, her words. She wanted me to take Veritaserum before she'd speak with me, but I managed to convince her that the secrets I carry aren't mine to tell. I told her that I'm trying to convince Potter to make a return to the wizarding world, if for no other reason than to let his friends know he's managing."

For a moment, Draco appeared troubled. "I might have been too candid with her. I don't know. I told her that Potter's not coping well with being queer, that he feels ostracised because of it. She was pretty blunt about what would happen if he became a professor, though. I guess the rules for teachers are pretty strict, since he wouldn't be able to date anyone while a member of the staff, at least not publicly."

"He can't date men," corrected Snape. "He can date women. He can even get married and still remain on staff. He just can't be gay, or as the Board calls it, a 'practising homosexual'. I'm surprised they've not begun to require a vow of celibacy for us."

"I wonder if Lucius still has any pull with them," said Draco, his fingers stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It seems Hogwarts still can't keep a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor on staff, so I suspect McGonagall wouldn't be adverse to offering it to Potter, provided he promises not to be queer in public."

"Given his current state of mind, I doubt he'd take issue with that."

"It's not healthy, Sev, and it's only going to encourage more of his self-destructive behaviour. As much as I think that position belongs to Potter, I can't in good conscience advise him to take it. Not with that hanging over his head."

"Spare me the lecture, Draco. This isn't a conversation I didn't have a thousand times with Albus Dumbledore, and if he couldn't sway the Board, I doubt Minerva will be able to do it." Snape tilted his head. "I assume you know Albus was as queer as a two headed Phoenix."

Draco sputtered. "What?" He shuddered. "I can guarantee that I never spent a single moment imagining what his sex life was like. He was ancient when I knew him and...ugh. I could have done without that, thanks ever so much."

"He was rather accomplished at fellatio," said Snape, his tone level.

"I hate you right now." Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, apparently trying to banish the image. "I do _not_ want to know how you know that. Despite Potter's sexuality, McGonagall is firmly on his side. She regrets she can't offer him a position without strings attached, but she definitely wants to see him with her own eyes. It's a mother thing, I guess. Who knew Gryffindors were maternal?"

"They say the same about us," warned Snape. "I hope you have the good sense not to drag House politics into this. There are enough stumbling blocks already. I do not need you creating some where none exist."

"I can't say it was a cordial conversation," continued Draco, ignoring Snape's remarks, "but at least I left with a promise that she'll speak with me again. After that, she sent me to deliver a note to Hagrid." He massaged his ribs as a spark of horror entered his eyes. "I think she associated with you a bit too closely. She has an evil streak a mile wide."

Eyes gleaming with interest, Snape nodded for Draco to continue. It was no secret that Draco had done his level best to make Hagrid's life miserable, going so far as to get his hippogriff executed. Of course, thanks to Harry, the beast had managed to escape...

"He's got a new boarhound," said Draco in a tight voice. "Named it Scar. I think it's because he leaves a lot of them. It was ten minutes before he called it off. Personally, I think he was happy to see me nearly wetting my pants. Hagrid, not the dog."

"Probably," agreed Snape, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin.

"After the beast was done terrorising me, he asked me what I wanted, so I told him the headmistress sent me down with a note." He shook his head in disbelief. "Total Slytherin move and I fell for it. It said, 'Hagrid, Draco just told me Harry Potter is alive. Minerva.' Then the giant oaf burst into tears and nearly crushed me to death. My ribs are still bruised.

"Hagrid made me tell him everything, so I told him pretty much what I told Pomfrey. He was devastated to hear about Granger and the Weasel. Kept going on and on about how it wasn't right, them turning their backs on Harry. Told me about ten times that he rescued Harry from the remains of the house at Godric's Hollow and delivered him to his relatives. How he’d had no idea how horrible those Muggles were.

"You know, I never really appreciated how strange all of this must have seemed to him. Can you imagine Hagrid as your introduction to the wizarding world? I'd have shit myself." His face grew sombre. "Potter wasn't really kept in a cupboard, was he? I know that's what everybody says, but surely it's not true."

Snape spoke slowly, as though weighing his words to the last grain. "As much as your new-found empathy does you credit, it will only embarrass Potter should you ever mention it to him. Yes, it's true. All of it."

"Definitely want him to stand as godfather," muttered Draco, his fist clenching and unclenching repeatedly. "After nearly killing me, Hagrid took me up to see Longbottom. I almost wish I'd gone back to Pomfrey instead. Hagrid blubbered to Longbottom for awhile, but the short version is that Mr and Mrs Weasley have consented to see us this Thursday night. I'm not above using the baby to smooth the path."

"Playing on Molly's maternal instincts? The ones Gryffindors don't have?" Snape asked archly.

"Shut it, alright? I'm wrong as often as I'm right, okay?" Draco pressed his fingertips together before speaking. "Other than Minerva, the few people I've spoken with don't give a brass knut that Harry's gay. They're worried sick about him and miss him terribly. Longbottom said something that makes me think that what Potter needs is to _know_ that he still has friends. I want to arrange a reunion, which is why I'm speaking with Mr and Mrs Weasley face to face. They're family, at least in Potter's mind, and if they welcome him back, maybe he'll figure out that he belongs with us."

"A reunion?" Snape drew back in his chair, his jaw working as he processed that thought. His eyes moved skittishly around the room, from mantel to bookcase, to the stacks of journals on the low table by the sofa. His fingers grew restless, tapping relentlessly on the arm of his chair.

"As much as it pains me to admit it," he concluded uneasily, "I believe that would be for the best. It also means that Severus Snape must make a miraculous appearance." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot send him into the lion's den alone."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Are you speaking metaphorically? Or is this some veiled reference to a den of Gryffindors?"

Snape barked out a laugh. "It would appear to be both. Whom do you wish to invite? I would recommend starting with a small gathering, half a dozen at most. He's likely to panic regardless, and any more than that would most likely prove overwhelming."

"I had thought to invite McGonagall, Mr and Mrs Weasley and the Longbottoms. Have you a different group in mind?"

Snape thought for a bit. "I believe you should attempt to contact Charlie Weasley, or have Arthur and Molly do it. He went to great lengths to protect Potter while other members of the family were attempting to harm him. I would suggest inviting the eldest as well, but that would bring Fleur and their daughter, and possibly Fleur's sister as well. That's too large a gathering. Best to save that for later, once Potter has made his peace with the rest of them."

"You're okay with the Longbottoms on the guest list, then?" asked Draco.

"Yes," replied Snape with a decisive nod. "I believe it is critical that at least one of Potter's year mates be in attendance. He needs to understand that the prejudices he has faced are not universal, nor are they confined to any one generation. In any case, it will be quite illuminating to see the former Ms Lovegood again.

"What did you learn from Kingsley?"

Draco held up a slender hand. "St Mungo's first. I spoke to Hippocrates Smethwyck, this year's chair of the admissions committee. They're somewhat divided about whether Potter should return, but I had the sense that Smethwyck wants him back at any cost. There were one or two who were concerned about whether the hospital would be disrupted again, but most of the opposition doesn't want to work with a wizard who's gay."

" _They're_ somewhat divided? _They_ are?" snarled Snape. "Have you not heard of discretion, Draco? Did you somehow get it into your head that this was a matter for public debate?" He growled under his breath, dark eyes flashing. "This was to be done quietly, not announced in the bloody _Prophet_."

"Every person in that room," said Draco coldly, "swore a binding wizard's oath not to reveal to anyone without knowledge of the circumstances what was said in that meeting. As you are the only person fully informed about Potter's current whereabouts and condition, you are the only person able to tell the _Prophet_ anything.

"There are over a hundred mediwitches and wizards on staff there. There are six or seven who are violently opposed to working with queers. All of them are purebloods. There are fifteen to twenty of us who are very vocal in support of allowing anyone with the necessary skills and intelligence to join our ranks." Draco smiled grimly. "I am the only pureblood on that side of the aisle, but then again, I'm in disgrace."

"I am not happy about this, Draco," said Snape brow creased with worry. "This was never meant to be the topic of idle conversation and, wizard's oath aside, there is nothing that prevents those in attendance from speculating within earshot of others."

"Sev, the hospital is a democracy, believe it or not, and Smethwyck and I put forth a proposal that bars this sort of discrimination. It will be discussed and should that debate reach the ears of the _Prophet_ , then someone might connect those dots to Potter. I don't know, but I'll see to it he doesn't become a figurehead. Again. You have my word on that.

"I know you want to protect him from the big bad world," Draco continued, "but he needs to choose his own path."

Snape's face darkened. The idea of Harry venturing out again on his own with no one else to rely upon was unacceptable, and he wondered if Harry would be entirely opposed to being locked up safe for the rest of his natural life.

"Now for Kingsley," Draco announced. "Again, another one whose feet are firmly in the Potter camp, and who doesn't give a crup's arse about who Potter sleeps with, even if it were someone like me. His words—and I took them at face value. He made it very clear that Potter is not to attempt to become a member of the Auror Corps. He is _persona non grata_ there, not least of which is because of the Weasel.

"When the story broke, Weasel was the target of a lot of rather mean-spirited pranks, aimed at—"

"There is no need to continue. I've heard it all before," Snape said with a sigh. "I surmise Ronald has ensured Potter will never be welcome within their ranks?"

Draco shrugged. "It's hard to say who's been keeping that particular cauldron stirred, but I'm leaning more towards Robards myself. There's genuine animosity there, at least according to Kingsley. Harry may have been too good, odd as that sounds. Saviour of the Wizarding World and gifted to boot: may as well have painted a target on his back. It's one thing to think you're better than anybody else; it's something else when it's actually true."

That Draco managed to say that entirely without irony made it a red letter day. "Never say that within Potter's hearing. The shock might well cause him an injury," said Snape, barely holding back a laugh. He shook his head. "The Auror Corps is out; St Mungo's is a possibility, but one that will place Potter's personal life in front of everyone; Hogwarts is a decided yes, provided Potter doesn't mind living like a monk."

"Or pretending to be straight," added Draco.

"I do not wish to encourage him to do so," said Snape with a pronounced frown. "It will only lead to heartache and, with no closet left to hide in, it is unlikely his attempt at deception will be successful.

"Why do you wish to keep his old school trunk here?" asked Snape suddenly, diverting the course of the conversation.

Whether Snape had had enough or merely wanted to move on to other things, Draco did not know. For all his loyalty to Potter and Snape, he could only imagine what it was to stand in their shoes. Though unwelcome in many places, he knew he'd made his own bed. The visceral hatred some witches and wizards directed at Potter, and by extension Snape, for something they could not control was a different cauldron of potion.

"Bait," replied Draco succinctly, his mind starting to re-imagine his world into one that was more accepting—and forgiving.

"Explain."

"I might, with a bit of pleading, get Potter to agree to come here to meet Astoria. He may take me seriously when I tell him I would like to erase the past and start over. But if he knew that I'd stumbled across an old trunk with his initials on it, he'd be much more likely to jump at a chance to take a look at it, don't you think?"

"And when he returns from examining it, he walks into a roomful of people who are rather desperate to see him?" Snape ran a well-manicured hand over his head. "I wish I weren't relying so heavily on Harry's forgiving nature. He's likely to be quite cross with me for a good long time."

Draco leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Are you ever going to tell him how you feel about him? Or are you planning to carry this secret to your grave?"

"We're talking about Potter, not about me," said Snape sharply.

"You deserve to be happy, too, Severus. He deserves to know the truth. At the very least, he's earned the right."

Snape became as surly as ever. "If, and that is a very large 'if', Potter ever reaches the point where he's comfortable with who and what he is, if he ever shows the least bit of interest in me as a partner and not as an accommodating fuck, then, and only then, will I consider exposing myself to his ridicule."

Huffing a short laugh, Draco shook his head despairingly. "You do realise there is a chance he loves you too, right?"

"And you've just proven you're still an idiot despite your Healer's robes." Snape rose to his feet, all wounded pride and damaged ego. "I'm going home. Ring me after you've spoken to the Weasleys." He strode to the fireplace and dipped into the container of Floo powder.

"Thank you for dinner," he said stiffly, pausing in front of the fire. "I will think on what you've said."

Draco stood next to Snape for a moment, staring into the flames. "You're still _The_ Slytherin. If anyone can ensnare Potter, it's you. Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Draco." After a burst of emerald flame, Snape was gone.

* * * * * *

  
By September, Snape's iron control was starting to slip, though only someone who knew him as well as Harry would have noticed anything was amiss. Harry, though, seemed weighted down with worries of his own, passing each day in a bit of a fog. He continued to work with surprising attention to detail, but he was also devoting a great deal of time to watching Seth. Snape told himself that he wasn't jealous, that it made perfect sense for Harry to be interested in the (much) younger man, and he tried to ignore Harry's increasing fascination with him.

It did not help matters any that Harry was not sleeping well either. He tossed and turned in the grip of intense dreams that left him shaken and exhausted, then awoke and poured all his energy into performing the tasks Snape had set forth, as well as those he had adopted for himself. He was losing weight and dark circles had taken up residence under his eyes again.

The most disturbing part was the name Harry continually muttered in his sleep—Seth.

One night, at the end of a particularly long shift, Snape climbed into bed and had barely begun to drift off when Harry sat bolt upright, shouting at the top of his lungs. "No! You can't!" He started to throw off the covers, but Snape reached across him, pinning him gently to the bed.

"Alright then," Snape said softly. "I won't. Go back to sleep, love."

Harry gave a strange, half-strangled choked sob and burrowed into Snape's side, his nose buried in Snape's armpit and one arm thrown over Snape's chest. He was back asleep and dreaming in moments while Snape stared at the ceiling.

Whatever peace of mind remained to him was shattered a short while later when Harry's dreams took on a decidedly sexual bent. Harry began to rut against him, his half-hard cock digging into Snape's thigh. He grunted and moaned before bursting into tears. "Make them stop," he sobbed. "Please, no, I can't. God, no, don't touch me. Stop!"

His heart pounding in his chest, Snape shook Harry awake, dried his tears and calmed him down. Yet another night's sleep lost to Harry's nightmares. Harry claimed not to remember what he'd dreamt, but the haunted look in his green eyes gave Snape reason to doubt.

A few days later, as Snape tried to make sense of the paperwork on his desk, the telephone rang. "We're set for the twenty-fourth. It's on, Sev," came Draco's voice. "One o'clock." There was an enormous sigh. "They all sob when I mention Potter's name. Are you coming by Floo, Apparation or Tube?"

"Hmm, by car I suspect," replied Snape after a brief hesitation. "Magic's too quick and the Tube is likely to be packed. I'll sound him out and let you know if you need to dangle the bait in front of him." He swivelled in his chair as the office door opened behind him.

It was Seth, gazing at him with both hope and lust. Snape shook his head and held up a finger demanding a minute to wrap things up.

"No, it's Seth. I've not seen Harry yet today, but I'll pass along your regards. I'll ring you tomorrow night. Ta, darling." Snape made a kissing noise into the phone before disconnecting. "Where _is_ Harry? Have you seen him?"

"He's taking inventory in the pantry," replied Seth as he approached Snape's desk, clipboard in hand and a look of dejection on his face. Like Harry, he wore a white, fitted cassock with a long line of buttons down the front. "I need your signature on these requisitions."

Snape scanned down the order and arched a brow. "Has there been an incident?"

"Brianna and Sandeep. She's been warned not to wear stilettos on the rubber sheets, but this is the third set she's ruined. I wonder if we ought not to charge her for them."

"At three hundred quid a set?" exclaimed Snape. "I should think so. I'll ring her this afternoon and let her know to expect a bill. Do we need six sets?"

Seth nodded. "Water sports are becoming the in thing, and a number of our clients prefer to be on a bed."

"I miss the days when a bathtub was enough." Snape scribbled his signature and came to his feet. "Will that be all?" he asked politely.

"Err..." Seth stammered. "I was wondering..."

A certain wariness entered Snape's eyes. "Yes?" he asked coolly.

"Not important, Sir," said Seth in a rush. "Sorry to have troubled you."

Harry was right where Seth had last seen him, sitting on a low rolling stool counting jars of Kalamata olives. He wrote the number down and moved onto the stuffed green olives. Baby gherkins were next.

"Is there a problem, Potter?" Snape asked, scrambling forward to catch Harry when he nearly fell off the stool at the sound of his voice. "I apologise. I thought you heard me. Inventory's not for several days yet."

Frowning as he caught his breath, Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Some of the numbers seem off, so I thought I'd keep an eye on it." He glanced at his clipboard and started counting again. "I didn't want to say anything yet, but it looks like someone's nicking things."

"You think so?" asked Snape in surprise. He stood behind Harry and bent down to read over his shoulder. A whiff of Harry's natural scent caught him unawares, and he closed his eyes as a wave of desire swept through him. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore the effect Harry's presence had on him, and he fought to keep the slight tremor from his voice. "What's gone missing?"

Without thought, Harry leant back against Snape's body. "Little things, mostly. A few jars of nuts, pickles, maraschino cherries. I've had to order more lately, but kitchen use seems steady. It's not costing us much, but..." He shrugged. "I've no patience for it, I guess."

"You were right to bring it to my attention," Snape murmured against Harry's ear, enjoying the small pleasurable shiver he was given in response. "I'll raise it as a general concern at the next staff meeting." When Harry's shoulders slumped suddenly, Snape shifted to look at him directly. "What is it?"

It was never a good sign when Harry refused to meet his eyes. "It's nothing, Sev."

"Let me be the one to decide that. Finish up with that, and then come upstairs. We've not had a chance to talk for awhile and we're past due."

"We talk every day," cried Harry in alarm. "We eat together every night and go over things about the club. You've introduced me to loads of people and we talk about them at lunch. Isn't that enough?" The plaintive note of desperation told Snape otherwise.

"If you were sleeping, I'd say yes. Something is weighing on your mind, Potter," said Snape, "so if you would prefer not to speak with me, I'll invite Draco over and you can spend a couple of hours with him. Which is it to be?"

"Give me twenty minutes and I'll be up," said Harry, resigned to baring his soul once again.

* * * * * *

  
As Snape climbed the stairs to their quarters, he realized that sleep was rapidly becoming a precious commodity for them both. Concern for Harry's future and fear about Harry's past, mingled with growing awareness of just how deep his feelings ran, tied Snape's well-ordered mind in knots, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how often he closed his mind, he could not silence his thoughts long enough to fall asleep. Having set the wheels in motion, the truth he'd been assiduously avoiding was staring him in the face.

He did not want Harry to leave.

Snape fixed a pot of tea the way Harry preferred it, adding a measure of Calming Draught to his own cup. He knew that the last thing Harry needed was for him to go off the rails in a blind, jealous rage. He suspected that Harry was trying very hard to suppress his attraction to Seth, especially since it flew in the face of his determination to change his orientation; throw in a few likely episodes of coerced sex, and it was no wonder Harry was suffering from nightmares.

When the door cracked open, Snape was as relaxed as he could be. Without a word, he held out a cup of tea.

"What's in it?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"Nothing in yours," Snape assured him. "Calming Draught in mine. I would rather keep my head for this conversation."

Giving him an odd look, Harry took the tea and curled up in the window seat. He managed a sip before getting to his feet and curling up next to him on the sofa instead. "Maybe I should have some of yours," he said. "I don't think I'm gonna like this much."

Moving Harry aside for a moment, Snape fetched the phial of Calming Draught and added several measures straight to the teapot. "That should do for both of us," he said as he refreshed own his cup and switched with Harry. "This, though, shouldn't require any potion at all."

"What shouldn't?"

"We've been invited to luncheon on the twenty-fourth, down in South Kensington on the other side of London. I wished to tell you of the invitation before I accepted it."

Harry frowned a bit. "It's not likely to turn into an orgy, is it?"

Grateful for the potion running through his system, Snape scowled. "As we've been invited by Draco and Astoria Malfoy, I can assure you that nothing sexual will take place. That said, should you wish to participate in an orgy, as you insist on calling it, I would be happy to arrange one for your benefit." After which he would dose himself with Draught of Living Death so as not to witness other people's hands touching Harry's flesh.

"Draco and Astoria have asked us to lunch? _Why?_ "

"Perhaps it is because Draco has spent the past three months treating you. Or maybe he would like to introduce us to his wife. Of course, there is also the possibility that he wishes to gain your endorsement and make millions off your name. It would be the Slytherin thing to do."

"But you already know her," argued Harry.

There were times Snape thought Harry argued simply to be contrary. "I do, yes, but you do not, except as the sister of a school mate you did not care for. It's been seven years since you _might_ have seen her last, and I can assure you she has changed since her days at Hogwarts, as have you. What shall I tell them?"

Harry gnawed on his lower lip for a moment and gulped at his tea. "Tell them yes," he replied. He glanced up at Snape and grinned a bit at the astonished look on the man's face. "I bet you thought I was going to say no."

"I was certain of it," replied Snape, inwardly relieved that there would be no need to bribe Harry into going. "I am curious about your reaction to the news of our next staff meeting. What is bothering you?"

When Harry responded by examining his buttonholes for loose threads, Snape tilted his chin up. "There is nothing you cannot tell me, Potter. I am accustomed to keeping confidences, and I believe I know my people well enough to understand how best to manage them. If there is an issue developing between you and another member of the staff, I would hope you trust me enough to bring it to me."

"No. No, it's nothing like that," said Harry, shaking his head. "I told you about the food that's gone missing, but I'm not having problems with anybody. Not really." Harry's eyes begged him to believe him.

Snape held his gaze. "Harry, you talk in your sleep. As well as…do other things."

"Oh, god!" Harry exclaimed, scrambling off the sofa as his cheeks exploded with colour. "I just...I can't. I can't. You'd never understand," he said, the words spilling out in a torrent as he paced wildly through the room. "It's horrible and embarrassing, and I know I should tell you, but if I do, it will ruin _every_ thing, and can't I just be happy here? You deserve so much better, and I know it's not fair, but you've not complained, not once, and Seth..."

It was one word too far. Harry went white, and Snape found himself exceedingly grateful for the Calming Draught he'd imbibed. It was the only thing that was keeping him from hurling enough curses at Harry—or Seth—to confine him to St Mungo's for life. "And Seth...what?"

Diving for the window seat, Harry curled himself into a tight ball, wrapping his arms around his legs and gazing so warily at Snape one would assume he was about to be beaten. "It's just a dream," he whispered, ashen. "Just a dream."

Disconcerted by Harry's panic, Snape thought for a moment, then rose and crossed over to his desk, pulling out several sheets of plain paper and a heavy ballpoint pen. "I will set these here. I would like you to write out your dream and, once you've finished, you can decide for yourself what to do with it." He poured himself more tea and sat in the chair across the room, leaving an open space for Harry to move about.

Filling his cup and bolting down more doctored tea, Harry grabbed the paper and pen, as well as a book to use as a writing surface, and he returned to his nook. He started writing, glancing over at Snape every once in awhile as if to jog his memory; after awhile, he looked up and asked hoarsely "May I have some more paper?"

"As much as you require," replied Snape, walking over to the desk and setting several more sheets on it. He returned to his chair and continued to observe the storm of emotions sweeping over Harry as he spilled out whatever was bubbling up from his subconscious.

For a long time, the only sounds in the room were the scratch of the pen moving over the paper and the occasional creak from the window seat when Harry shifted positions. Once he was done, Harry removed his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "It's all right if you read this," he said hesitantly, setting the pages on Snape’s desk, "but not when I'm around, okay? I know you'll have questions—I would—but I'm not...I don't want to talk about it yet. It's just...sometimes it's hard being me."

"It's never easy, Potter," said Snape quietly. "Even those with supposedly charmed lives have their own burdens they carry. Seal the pages in an envelope, and leave it for me on the mantelpiece. When it is gone, you will know that I have read it."

Nodding dumbly, Harry did as directed, writing Snape's assumed name carefully on the outside of the envelope and propping it up against the container of Floo powder. He stood apprehensively in front of the fireplace, as if once again uncertain of his welcome.

It crushed Snape’s soul to see Harry no more confident of his place here than when he first regained consciousness. "Come here, Potter,” Snape said, standing. “Today, please," he added when Harry showed no signs of moving.

With obvious reluctance, Harry walked slowly across the room until he was standing before Snape. Snape opened his arms, and Harry bowed his head and inched closer until his forehead was resting in the centre of Snape's chest. He shuddered out a sigh when Snape's hand cupped his head, his other arm encircling Harry’s shoulders.

"I will not assist you in your endeavour to be straight," Snape murmured, "but neither will I interfere should you wish to pursue a relationship with Seth." He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, forcing his body to remain relaxed, not wanting Harry to pick up on his unease.

"I don't want Seth," Harry mumbled into Snape's shirt. "Just...when you read it you'll know." He pulled out of Snape's arms and flopped down on the couch, his head resting against the back. "I know I've done nothing to earn your patience, but, please, if you can put up with me for—"

"You will remain here until I say otherwise."

Harry's head came up and he blinked owlishly. "But—"

"I wish to make this perfectly clear. This is your home. You are not encroaching. You are not something to be tolerated or endured. I have no intention of turning you out for any reason. Should you wish to spend the night with Seth, I only ask that you let me know where you will be so that I need not leave in search of you. If you are uncomfortable sharing my bed, please do me the courtesy of saying so, but do not presume to tell me how I feel about having you there. Am I understood?"

Harry nodded vigorously. He stepped away from Snape, looking as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I need to finish my work. Tomorrow's produce order still needs to be placed, and I promised Nia I'd help her get the dining room set up."

Harry turned to take his leave, but paused at the threshold and looked back at Snape, eyes shimmering. "I'm trying, Sev. I really am."

Snape had no idea what he meant.

* * * * * *

  
The envelope sat innocuously on the mantelpiece for days. Harry checked it morning and night, but the seal had not been broken. A second envelope joined the first; Snape left it untouched as well. Despite his hopes, it seemed that having Harry write out his dreams and set them aside had not accomplished anything. They were every bit as frequent and intense as they were before, but more likely now to end with Harry fighting off tears.

The day before the luncheon with Draco, Harry locked the office door and set the envelopes on Snape’s desk. "The last time I was this scared I was living in a tent with Ron and Hermione, praying we wouldn't be captured by Death Eaters. Will you please read them, Sir? I'm going mental."

Snape picked them up and opened the first. "Shall I read them here? Or upstairs?"

"I don't care!" exploded Harry. "Just get it over with." He dragged his desk chair over to the corner and curled up in it, his feet tucked up on the seat under him. He gnawed on a cuticle as he watched Snape with intense interest.

Pulling out the folded sheets of paper, Snape skimmed over the first page, noting idly that Harry's essay writing skills had not improved with age. Nor, it seemed, had his penmanship.

__  
~~Dear~~  


_Dear S ~~na~~ everus,_

_I know what you're going to say about these dreams. They're rather obvious, actually. I want you to know it doesn't change anything. I don't want this. I didn't choose it and I've already told you I won't be like that. I would truthfully rather have Voldemort back then live like this._

_But I promised I would be honest with you, even if I don't like what I have to say. I expect after reading this you'll put me out, but I want you to know I don't blame you. I don't want you to worry about me, either. I reckon I've learnt a bit since I went out on my own last time. I know how to reach the club and I expect I'll ring when I have a few pence in my pocket just so you'll know I'm alright. It's not that I don't want to stay, but when you read this, you'll see what I mean._

_So, the dreams._

_They always start the same way and they follow a bit of a pattern. Sometimes the pieces get a bit jumbled up, but they all show up eventually. It's Sunday afternoon and we're at a staff meeting. We're at the staff part, you know, at the end, where anyone can say whatever they want. And I say that the clients can't tell I work here since I'm wearing a white dress like the subs do. You get shirty and say it's a cassock, while Seth, Callum, Eithne and Kate kind of laugh a bit._

_But I don't like being touched by strangers and Nia says I should wear a collar so people will keep their hands to themselves. You tell her I've not earned it yet and I've still got a lot of growing up to do. And you won't look at me when you say it, like I don't matter to you, and it reminds me of Dumbledore in fifth year and I don't know what to do about it._

_Then you say you want approval on a name and it gets really cold. There's wind blowing around my legs and I find myself sitting in the corner of the room, blowing on my hands to keep them warm. You say you want Seth, but Nia says they've not voted on me, so you tell them all that I won't put out and you don't want me since I'm straight and all._

_Nia looks at me and laughs and everyone starts talking at once and I try to leave, but you tell everyone that I can't leave yet since we've not voted and it has to be unanimous because everybody knows the rules. And Seth wants to be approved and he starts talking about how he knew I was straight because there's no way I'd be in your bed and not be getting shagged if I were ~~gay~~ queer. And Nia says there's no way I'm straight because I've not tried to touch her once and I hardly ever look at her tits._

_I try to explain that I don't really mind tits and hers are rather nice actually and I don't really know why I don't look more, except I thought it was polite not to stare at them. But everyone is talking at once and Nia says that she's going to send out a notice to all the girls to tell them that I need a date with someone who knows what they're on about, but I don't want a date with anyone. You know how Nia is, Sir, she doesn't really listen when she has an idea in her head, so that's that. She's fixing me up with girls._

_You butt in and get everyone's attention (you're really good at that) and say that Seth's name's been entered. Nia and Claire say they don't understand why you're putting in Seth's name since you have me and everyone knows I'm that way, just wait and see how he is after I've shagged a few._

_I forgot to say that when you say you want Seth I sort of yelled NO a bit and that made Nia laugh too. Anyway, me and Nia and Claire and Luke and Pamela all say no, except I sort of say yes, too, and you say that Nia can't vote because she's got about a thousand quid in the pool. Then she says you'd best shag me soon because you're getting to be a right git. She should have known you ten years ago. Then Luke says it doesn't matter since there are four or five noes so Seth's pissed off at me because all the people who said no think we're shagging._

_Okay, this is where it's really hard to talk about._

_I'm downstairs. I don't know if this is right after the meeting or a different night or what. Nia's put me on one of the benches and she's tied me down so I can't move. My heart is pounding and I can't breathe, but she tells me it's okay, it's okay, she won't hurt me, but it's for my own good, you see. She takes off my dress so I'm starkers and brings in all these women. They're all sizes and colours and shapes and they're all really excited. They're wearing little scraps of cloth or corsets or nothing at all and they start touching me._  


__  
__  
~~I don't know I can't do this, Sir. I can't write this down.~~

 

After reading through it several times, Snape looked at Harry with expressionless eyes, his guts twisting and churning at the horrors Harry's mind was inflicting on him. He glanced at the second page, blank but for the paragraph at the top, then looked up at Harry. He was still curled up in the same tight ball, his cheek pressed against the cool plastered wall and staring sightlessly at the wall less than a foot from the tip of his nose.

Snape turned to page three.

_I promised to tell you the truth, but I want you to know this was a dream. I know Nia. She would never do this, but you asked me to tell you. If you read this far, then when you see me next, tell me you promise that she's not going to get in trouble. Promise me, Sir. If you can't, then throw this in the fire. Don't read any more, okay? You've always been honest and I need you to still be honest because I can't bear to think I got Nia into trouble over this. ~~I know what it's like to~~ Sirius died because of my dreams so you have to believe me when I say I'll go spare if you lie to me._  


Setting the pages down carefully on his desk, Snape wet his lips, shaken by what Harry had written. No matter how sordid, he knew they were dreams, nightmares really, fragments of unresolved issues manifesting in frightening or terrifying ways. Never in a million years would he condemn Harry for the contents of his dreams. Never in a million years would he punish a member of his staff for what went on inside Harry's head.

"On my magic, I swear Nia will not be held accountable in any way for your dreams," Snape said clearly, and thought he heard Harry's breath hitch in response. He turned his attention back to the page.

_Nia's there, like I said, and she's telling them how to touch me, where to put their hands and they're licking me and sucking on me. They're hands are everywhere, on my prick, on my chest, their fingers are in my arse and Nia's telling them how to make me hard, but it's no use, it's not working and there's too many of them and just one of me and one of them is sitting on my stomach and rubbing and it's wet and I can't move, I can't make them go away. And she's got her tongue in my mouth and I'm choking and gagging and I think I'm going to sick up. Nia's telling me I'm doing so good and the one is trying to mount me but she can't because I'm soft and I start to cry like a fucking baby._

__

_There's tears and snot and I'm still choking and I can't see. Nia just keeps telling me it will be okay, I just have to do them all and I can be normal and it's not so bad, is it Harry, but it is. It's worse than I ever thought it would be and I don't want to be there with those women but I'm tied down and I can't leave. No matter how much I yell at them to stop, they won't. And Nia's just petting my hair and telling them what to do._

_Then you step out of the shadows and I'm so relieved that I start to cry more and you tell Nia to send them away so you can show her how to do it properly and she gets them off me and sends them away. Then you're touching me and your voice is soft and your hands are soft and you’re telling me over and over breathe Harry, just breathe. And you wipe away the snot and the tears and you start kissing me all down my body and I can't help it I'm hard and I'm trying not to be and you say to relax, you won't hurt me and you're warm and I know I want you and Nia knows and everybody knows except you._

_But you're Snape and I already told you I won't be that way so I have to try to be normal because if you knew I didn't want to try any more you'd make me sleep somewhere else so I have to keep trying so I can stay and I promise you that I'll be good and I'll work harder—and that's when I wake up._  


Lacing his fingers together, Snape stared at the last page, Harry's panic evident in every stroke of the pen. Dear Christ in heaven, no wonder the boy wasn't sleeping. Folding the essay carefully, he slid it back into the envelope and sealed it shut with a piece of sellotape. After placing it in the safe for the time being, he turned his attention to the second envelope.

_You're wrong about Seth and me. I mean it when I say I'm not interested. First of all, he's not the sort of bloke I'd be interested in if I should change my mind about being normal. Secondly, he'll not ever look twice at me if you're about. I think he loves you._

_If you've read the bit in the other envelope, then you know why I think I should leave._

_Harry_  


"I have one question," said Snape after a lengthy and protracted silence.

Harry gulped and bobbed his head like a frightened bird. "Okay," he croaked.

"Why do you continue to believe that your stay here with me is predicated on anything?"

The question did not register, and Harry stared blankly as though trying to translate Snape's words into a language he understood. "But the dreams," he said weakly.

"Are dreams." Snape leant forward, propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together as his eyes bored into Harry. "You wrote that you understand the underlying message, but I will admit to harbouring a certain curiosity about your interpretation. You said very little about what it meant to you."

"I know what the dreams mean," Harry said sharply, tears of frustration glistening in his flashing eyes. "I'm a fucking ponce, Snape. I'm a faggot and I’ll never be normal."

"Surely you learnt enough from Trelawney to know dreams are not to be taken literally. There is a message, Potter, that you're not getting." He took a deep breath and released it slowly as he tried to rein in his anger.

"They are about loss of control. It is an attempt by your mind to reconcile what you insist you want with what it is able to give. The dream about the dungeon is proof of that. You are bound, unable to move, unable to escape. _What_ is happening is of far less importance than the fact that you cannot escape it.

"As for Seth, my own thought is that you are using him as a convenient stand-in for your own desires, which you are unable to face as demonstrated by your initial objection when you dreamt his name was put forth for consideration. You do not wish to act on your innate desires so your mind has created a construct to make the idea more palatable."

Snape's voice gentled and his face took on an expression of sorrow. "Can you not see the harm you are doing to yourself?"

Harry's only reaction was to draw a shuddering breath and run a shaky hand over his face. “I just don't understand why you're still helping me. What are you getting out of it?"

Pressing his fingertips together, Snape marshalled his thoughts. He had not anticipated the question, expecting instead an impassioned response telling him he was deliberately misinterpreting everything and to stop harping on the obvious. That the conversation would veer off in this direction gave him pause.

"I understand the challenges you face," he began slowly. "As a wizard living amongst Muggles, I am uniquely positioned to provide you shelter without you having to concern yourself with discovery. As for any benefits I may be reaping, I now have an able assistant and the companionship of someone who knows and appreciates my past."

"An assistant who dreams about having sex with you," Harry muttered as he turned his attention back to the wall. His wan cheeks turned pink.

“A dream that, as I have said, is purely symbolic,” Snape countered, ignoring the way his heart leapt at Harry’s words.

"I'm just so confused," said Harry wearily, his face pale and drawn. "I'm tired of fighting this, but I can't give up. I lost everything because of this. I can’t accept it—I miss my friends, Sev.” The eyes that caught Snape’s gaze were wistful and yearning. “But, no matter what I choose...."

Walking his desk chair to the corner where Harry had tucked himself away, Snape rested a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. By this time tomorrow, it was likely Harry would be reunited with friends and family both and making plans to return to the wizarding world. Snape wasn't certain he'd survive it.

"What else worries you?" he asked quietly. "If you are harbouring concerns that you are not earning your keep, then let me assure you they are groundless. If it will ease your mind, I am prepared to offer you an employment contract for any length of time you wish. Hard as it might be for you to accept, I do enjoy your company." He dropped his head for a moment. "I’m sorry I am not an adequate replacement for your friends, but—"

"No," interrupted Harry with a sad smile. "You've been brilliant. It's just...I like living with you. I know we have about the worst personal history two people could have, but if I ever am fortunate enough to find someone who loves me, I'd want them to be a lot like you." His blush deepened. “I can't be normal and still sleep with you,” Harry whispered.

A sharp pang of regret skewered Snape's heart, and he held his breath until the agony eased. "You realise that this is the first time you've indicated you'd rather have a room of your own for your sake and not mine, do you not?"

Harry's head snapped up. "What? My own room?" His green eyes grew round as saucers and he panicked. "But I didn't...I don’t..." His breath caught and he started to choke. He coughed and his eyes watered as he fought to draw air into his lungs.

Hand moving in slow, easy circles in the middle of Harry's back, Snape soothed him as best as he could. When Harry was breathing regularly again, he ran his hand lightly over Harry's head before pulling back. "Tell me what you want, Harry," he murmured.

"I don't know!" cried Harry. "I don't know what I should do."

Snape nodded tightly. "For tonight I suggest this. You will take the bed. I shall transfigure the couch and sleep there. I will be only a room away, but you will still be in familiar surroundings. Should you require me for _any_ reason, I will be at hand."

"I don't like turning you out of your own room."

There was a pointed silence. "I had rather hoped that you had come to think of it as ours," said Snape heavily. It was as much of an admission as he was prepared to make.

"That's most of why I don't want to leave it," admitted Harry softly, his expression growing somewhat apprehensive. "We'll try it your way. I don't like it, but I've got to grow up some time."

"Potter, of all the problems facing you, I would not include a lack of maturity as one of them."

Harry gave a wan smile. "That might well be the nicest thing you've ever said to me.” He looked down for a moment before bringing his head up with a forced smile. “Shall we get back to work now, Sir? Tonight's going to be busy." Friday nights always were.

Snape frowned and looked at Harry with a critical eye, kicking himself when he realised Harry was still pushing himself much too hard. "How many hours have you put in today?"

"I dunno. A few. Not that many. Nia has me working in the dining room tonight, just through the busy part, so she can monitor the dungeons. She says there's a piercing class so she's needed downstairs."

Rolling his way back to his desk, Snape nodded. "Summon me if it gets to be too much to manage on your own." He folded the letter back up and slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping. Should he be fortunate enough to still have some part of Harry in his life going forward, he would revisit it with him. "Don't forget we're to be at the Malfoys tomorrow at one."

Harry's head snapped around and he appeared startled. Then he understood. "Oh. Draco's. I've not forgotten."

Snape unfolded himself from his chair and replaced it back behind his desk.

From across the room, Harry said quietly, "I heard what you said, Sir, and I'll give it some thought."

There was so much Snape wanted to say to him, to remind him how precious he was in his own right, with none of his legacy attached to it. That Snape valued him as a person—but he knew it would all fall on deaf ears. Harry wasn't able to hear anything outside of his own self-loathing. "That's all I can ask."

"I'll see you at dinner," said Harry as he slipped silently out the door, the worry still evident in clouded green eyes.

* * * * * *

  
Harry was very quiet as Snape drove them through London to Draco's flat in South Kensington. Snape noted that he paid very little attention to the sights, preferring instead to pick at his cuticles until they were raw. He made no attempt to draw Harry into conversation; should Harry wish to speak, he would.

Last night's grand experiment had failed. When he reached their rooms shortly after two in the morning, he'd found a short note from Harry that said, "Come to bed." As soon as he had settled in for the night, Harry curled around him and that was that. They'd both slept like the dead.

"I can't work out why Draco's invited us for luncheon," Harry said into the silence.

"As I told you," Snape replied as he negotiated a lane change, "he would like to introduce you to Astoria. Despite your less-than-encouraging history, I do believe he wants nothing more than your friendship. He has not had an easy time of it, any more than you have, and it forced him to do something no Malfoy has done in hundreds of years."

"What's that?" asked Harry with a trace of a grin. "Grow up?"

"Despite his many flaws, Draco has always been an adult—even as a child," replied Snape. "I meant that Draco does not see himself as the centre of the universe. He has become aware of the wider world, and it took not having it at his fingertips to do that."

"I should probably stop looking at the world through Gryffindor-coloured glasses." Harry turned his head and looked out his window. "I'm too accustomed to thinking that he's got an ulterior motive. Even now."

"If you give him a chance, I think you'll discover that Draco has grown into a rather lovely young man."

Harry arched a brow.

At the next red light, Snape turned and gave Harry a frank and appraising look. "As have you and, yes, I meant that in every way possible." His eyes swept over Harry's body just before he took his foot from the brake and accelerated through the intersection.

Harry gave Snape a sideways glance before turning his attention back to his fingernails. Still, a pleased smile flirted around the edges of his mouth, and he appeared more relaxed than he had in days.

Before they knew it, they'd reached the car park tucked under Draco's tall, modern building. Draco and Astoria had a multi-level flat on the top floors with a breathtaking view of the London skyline. They announced themselves in the lobby and were admitted to the lift, Harry growing less and less sure of himself the higher they went.

Before Harry could change his mind, Snape rapped sharply on Draco's door and placed his hand firmly at the small of Harry's back. "It will be fine, Potter," he murmured as the door swung open. All the same, he wished he had a binding magical contract to ensure that sentiment.

Draco pulled the door open with a warm smile that seemed oddly at home on his thin face, and he welcomed Harry and Snape inside. Dressed in pressed tan trousers and a dark blue cashmere jumper, he appeared relaxed and quite happy to see them. "No coats?" he asked as he extended his hand to Harry.

Both were dressed similarly to Draco, and Harry slid his palms nervously over his trousers before shaking hands. "I've a cloak in the car, but Severus thought I'd not be needing it," he explained in a rush, eyes darting around the entryway. There was a staircase with slatted wood steps to the left and a narrow corridor straight ahead. To the right was a long galley kitchen in pale blue. Platters of food, enough for a small army, lay covered on the counters.

"Take a deep breath," Snape murmured. "Relax." He greeted Draco with a handshake and a nod of his head, then followed him down the narrow corridor to the spacious room at the end of the hall. As they crossed the threshold, Astoria Malfoy rose gracefully from a club chair and smiled. Tall and willowy, Astoria was almost as delicately featured as her husband; but where Draco was the colour of moonlight, Astoria was the pale gold of winter wheat, her eyes a summer blue.

She bounded over and gave Snape a brief hug before exchanging kisses with him. "Severus. It is so good to see you again." She turned to Harry and extended her hand. "I doubt you remember me from school. I'm Astoria."

Harry flushed slightly and shook his head, taking a small step back into Snape's comforting presence as he took her hand. "I'm Harry. Your sister was in my year though. She was…" He fished for a word that wouldn't be too terribly insulting. "Nice."

"For a Slytherin, you mean," Astoria said with a bright laugh. "She wasn't best pleased when I started seeing Draco." She rolled her eyes. "She clung to all that blood purity nonsense right up to the point where she met a half-blood Hufflepuff and fell in love. Welcome to our home, Harry. What can I offer the two of you to drink? Just name it; I'm sure we have it somewhere."

Draco and Snape both elected to have a glass of wine, while Harry requested pumpkin juice for himself. They congregated in seats near the front of the room, next to the sliding doors that led out to a wide balcony. "Draco tells me you're working with Severus now. Are you enjoying it?" Astoria asked, and soon Harry found himself chatting easily with her, much to Snape's relief.

He sat quietly as he watched Harry become more animated as Astoria plied him with questions about managing a restaurant, smiling inwardly at the unabashed fondness for her that never left Draco's eyes.

"Draco, why don't you give Harry a tour of the flat while I set out lunch?" she asked after they'd been conversing for awhile. "He's not been before, and he might like to see the view from upstairs."

"Do you require any assistance?" Snape asked, wondering if a secret signal had just passed between husband and wife. He came smoothly to his feet as Harry all but leapt to his.

"There's very little to do," Astoria assured him. "Why don't you go with them, Severus?"

"As you wish," said Snape just as Draco began to speak with Harry. His keen eyes caught the very slight nod Draco gave Astoria.

"I don't know if you remember, Potter—" said Draco as he beckoned to them to follow.

"Can we try perhaps using names?" interrupted Harry. "From you, Potter is nearly an insult and I'd like to try being 'Harry' for awhile."

"I'd like that," Draco said as he led them back through the hallway they'd come through earlier. "Anyway, Astoria works in the Administrative Registration Department at the Ministry, which is a bit of a catch-all place, to be honest. If there's a form involved, it ends up there." He mounted the stairs and trotted up two flights, still chattering as he climbed. "Anyway, there was an abandoned property notice that was filed about a week after you showed up at Sev's place. The only reason she mentioned it to me was because of your initials—HJP, right?"

Harry shot Snape a confused glance before nodding. "Harry James Potter. I rather thought everyone knew that." He followed Draco into a bright room that smelled of fresh paint, Snape right behind. "Nice," he said, his hands behind his back as he peered out the window.

"As I was saying, it went up for auction and I took a chance on it." The lies fell smoothly from Draco's lips as he pulled open the folding closet doors. "Thought maybe it might be yours. It's so heavily warded, though, that I can't be certain."

Snape kept a close eye on Harry as he moved forward with slow steps.

"This showed up at the Ministry?" asked Harry in a thin voice. "Abandoned?" He dropped to his knees in front of it, running his fingers reverently over the top. He bowed his head. "How much did you pay for it?" His voice shook.

"A few Galleons," said Draco dismissively, his silver eyes locked on Snape's face. "Not much. Is it yours?"

Harry nodded, his eyes still on the trunk. "I don't know if I can open it, though. I keyed the wards to my wand and I don't have one any more."

"Try mine." Snape extracted his wand from the pocket sewn into the seam of his trousers. "Despite what they might have taught you in Auror training, wards are keyed to magical signatures, not wands, for this very reason. It will require a bit more concentration on your part, but you should be able to release the charms should you wish to examine the contents." He reversed his wand and offered it to Harry.

"Feels so strange," murmured Harry as he took it. He glanced up to look at Draco. "I don't understand why you bothered to buy this, but I'm in your debt. I'll never be able to repay you." He turned back to the trunk, lifted Snape's wand and touched the corners and lock in a deliberate fashion, chanting softly under his breath.

Draco watched as Harry performed the complicated spellwork necessary to open his old school trunk. "I reckon if we tried to add up the debts we think owe each other, we'd be at it for weeks, so let's not." When Harry lifted the lid, he stepped back to give Snape room. "Sev, why don't you bring him downstairs after he's had a chance to go through everything?" He gazed intently at Snape. "We’ll be waiting."

Understanding flashed in Snape's eyes and he nodded. He glanced at Harry, busy rooting through the trunk in search of something. "When he's ready," he said quietly. "I will not rush him."

"Of course not," agreed Draco. Snape was so protective of Harry it was a wonder the man got any rest at all. His pale grey eyes flickered once over Harry before he left the room.

Books were piling up next to the trunk; _Protecting Your Posterior—Shield Charms for Every Occasion,_ was at the bottom. Stacked on top of _Spilling Secrets With Veritaserum_ were Harry's books from the Healer's Programme, recognisable by the crossed bone and wand imprinted on the spine. A photo album was lifted out with great care, Harry's fingers trailing over the cover before he set that, too, aside.

"Oh," he exclaimed softly as he scooped up a Gryffindor house scarf.

Leaning against the wall, Snape watched intently as Harry unrolled the scarf with fingers that were shaking so badly he could barely hold onto it. At the centre lay a small phial filled with a shimmering substance and, with dawning comprehension, Snape took an involuntary step forward.

"I must have watched these a thousand times," Harry said, his voice so low Snape had to struggle to hear him. "Mostly just the beginning, when you and my mum were little." He looked up, his green eyes so like Lily's Snape could barely breathe. "No one ever spoke much of my mum. Slughorn did a bit, back in sixth year. She was one of his favourites." He snorted softly. "I almost felt sorry for her, you know?"

Snape nodded as crossed to Harry and sank to the floor beside him. "I remember," he said in a strangely thick voice, "that he attempted to collect her into his little club. Much like he did with you."

"I managed to avoid him for the most part," said Harry. "I envied you for having a friend. I didn't until Hogwarts. Dudley made certain everyone thought I was disturbed. Dangerous." An air of resignation settled around him like a cloak. "I know she loved you 'til the day she died."

He gazed at the phial for a long time before offering it to Snape. "I think you should have this back, Sir. They're your memories."

Reaching forward, Snape closed Harry's fingers around the phial. "I would prefer you keep them. You have so very little of your parents that I cannot begrudge you a few memories of her, no matter how much I may have loved her."

"I think you still do," said Harry quietly, looking down at the hands folded over his own. "I think you love for life, no matter what sort of love it is." He glanced up at Snape through lowered lashes. "Is that why you've not found a partner, Sir? Because you know it will be forever?"

Colour fading, Snape drew a quick breath, half hoping and half fearful that Harry's eyes had opened to the truth, that the love of his life was the young man sitting in front of him. "I would rather," he said slowly, his eyes firmly on Harry's face, "suffer the pain of unrequited love than the agony of rejection. Does that answer your question, Mr Potter?" His heart hammered in his chest, yet his expression remained calm.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Harry caught his lower lip in his teeth. He nodded as he met Snape's gaze, and the moment stretched between them. Suddenly, he gave a sharp shake of his head and untangled his hand from Snape's. "Oh! I meant to give you these." He dove back into his trunk and pulled out a stack of aging Charms textbooks. "They're yours," he explained. "They're the ones McGonagall lent to me."

Snape couldn't remember the last time in his life he'd been so disappointed to see a book. He took the one from the top of the pile and opened it. No 'Property of the Half-Blood Prince' to greet him, just his name printed carefully in the manner of one using a quill for the first time. Even as a first-year he was making notes in the margins. He closed the cover and handed it back to Harry. "I would be honoured if you would hold them for me."

"Thank you." Harry blushed. "Is Astoria expecting, do you know? She, err, kind of, you know, just a bit."

"I should think that's a question best left for them," Snape replied as he arched a brow.

"Yeah, probably," admitted Harry with an abashed grin. "I honestly don't know why I'm so happy to have these back, but I don't feel as much like I'm a figment of my own imagination now. I have a past. Once upon a time, I mattered."

With the number of ways Harry managed to break his heart, Snape was oftentimes surprised that it hadn't shattered completely. "You've never not mattered," he said intensely, as Harry's stomach chose that moment to give a particularly well-timed growl. "Come," he said, as he began to help Harry repack the trunk. "Draco and Astoria are likely hungry as well."

"May I borrow your wand again?" Harry asked nervously once they'd put everything away. "I don't think shrinking charms will hurt anything inside."

"Leave it," replied Snape after a moment's reflection. "We'll not forget to take it with us, and I am quite certain that Draco has no designs on the contents." He reached out and touched Harry's face lightly, surprised that his hands weren't trembling. "It will be quite safe, I assure you."

Harry nodded, though he still glanced back over his shoulder as they walked out of the room. "I quite like Astoria," he remarked as they headed downstairs. "She's not at all what I expected."

"Oh?" Snape asked lightly as his insides churned. "What were you anticipating?"

"Narcissa," admitted Harry as they rounded the landing. He stepped lightly off the last stair and headed down the corridor. "Or someone like Bella—" He came to a sudden stop as he walked into a room that was far more crowded than when he'd left it. He turned to flee and crashed heavily into Snape, who spun him about and marched him back inside.

Into the silence that followed him floated an ethereal voice. "Hello, Harry Potter," said Luna Lovegood as she stepped out from behind her husband.

There was a flash of russet, and Snape was nearly knocked off his feet when a sobbing Molly Weasley pulled Harry into her arms. "Harry! Oh, Harry!" she wept. "We've been so worried about you. I was so afraid you were…you were…" she gulped, nearly crushing him as she hugged him tight.

"There, there, dear," said Arthur Weasley. "Give the poor boy a chance to breathe." He pulled Harry into an awkward hug as Molly detached herself, dabbing at her eyes. He glanced up. "Merlin's thunder, it's Severus Snape!"

Neville went three shades paler and shifted nervously as he shot Draco an angry glance. "Is there, perhaps, something you forgot to mention?" he hissed. Luna made her way through the small crowd to stand before the former Potions professor, gazing up at him with knowing eyes.

Giving a brief shrug, Draco smiled. "Not my secret to tell," he said as he slid his arm around Astoria's waist, blocking the fireplace in case Harry bolted in that direction. Given the amount of sheer panic in his eyes, it was not an unlikely scenario.

"What…how…?" quavered Harry, his face nearly green. He lurched forward, almost stumbling into Arthur's strong arms.

Molly gave a sharp cry and grabbed for Harry as Arthur led him to the nearest chair. Tears continued to pour down her cheeks, and she followed right behind, arm outstretched, as if to assure herself he wasn't a figment of her imagination. She sat next to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, her brown eyes examining every square inch of him that she could see. "We've been searching for you for ages. Wherever did Draco find you?"

Harry could do little more than glance wildly around the room, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Determined to rescue him before he lost his head completely, Snape took one step toward the couch, only to find his progress impeded by Luna. The tiny witch shook her head slightly. "Give him a moment, Professor. He's all tangled up in himself and hasn't begun to get it sorted yet."

She threaded her way across the room to the sofa where Harry sat white-faced and frantic, cornered by Molly Weasley. Standing next to him, she placed her palm over his solar plexus, pressing hard enough for him to feel her hand through his agitation. "Close your eyes and breathe to my hand. Just breathe, Harry," she said, her blue eyes serene.

When at long last he closed his eyes, Luna started to chant softly, and Snape swore he saw her hand glow. His dark eyes narrowed, and he took another step forward, but to his surprise, Neville stopped him in his tracks.

"She has her own magic," he said softly. "And Harry trusts her." He turned to look back at his wife and his year-mate and swallowed. "Well, he used to. I reckon a part of him still does since he's getting better."

"Worst infestation of Wrackspurts I've ever seen," said Luna minutes later as she removed her hand. "But we'll get you sorted, Harry. It might take a few of us, but we're all friends here." She flashed him a brilliant smile, before turning to Astoria. "Shall we eat? Wrackspurts can't multiply on a full stomach."

No one moved until Harry opened his eyes, and Snape fought his way through the small throng of people gathered around Harry like buzzards at a corpse. He dropped to one knee in front of him and gazed into his eyes. "Do you think you can manage a few bites of food?" he asked quietly.

"Did you know they'd be here?" said Harry hoarsely.

Snape dipped his head. "I did. They begged for the opportunity to see you, and it is my belief we should listen to what they have to say."

"Harry?" Molly reached out and touched him lightly on the shoulder, her eyes still swimming. "Please give us a chance to explain."

He gave her a blank look. "Explain? Explain what?" he asked, bewildered. He looked up as Draco came to stand before him.

"As your Healer, I have no compunction against ordering you to eat, _Harry_ ," he said imperiously, before his face broke into a proud smile. "Besides, Astoria is a brilliant cook and is quite a dab hand with sandwiches."

"This coming from someone barely able to slice bread," Astoria chimed in.

From the corner of the room, McGonagall cleared her throat. "I believe luncheon is served. It would behoove us all to take our seats and avail ourselves of Mrs Malfoy's splendid repast." She levelled clear grey eyes on Snape. "I, for one, should like to hear about Severus' miraculous resurrection, and I suspect that we all have many other tales to tell." She arched a fine brow. "Mr Potter? After you."

Snape assisted Harry to his feet and escorted him to the table that had magically expanded while they were upstairs. Seating Harry in the middle, he claimed the seat immediately to Harry's left and left the others to fend for themselves. To Harry's right sat Minerva, and Snape felt confident that should another wave of panic overtake him, Harry would not get away very easily.

Across the table sat Arthur and Molly Weasley, as well as Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. To Snape's surprise, Astoria claimed the head of the table while Draco sat at the foot. Once everyone had found their places, Astoria rose and placed her left hand just above the gentle mound of her slightly curved stomach and lifted a goblet of pumpkin juice in tribute. "Harry, I know this gathering has come as a shock to you, but I wish to take this opportunity to, once again, welcome you to our home and back into the wizarding world. While I don't know you very well yet, I can assure you that you have been sorely missed." Her blue eyes twinkled. "At least by Draco," she grinned.

As Snape lifted his wine glass, he counted four warm smiles and three worried ones. For his part, Harry appeared stunned. He hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself as small as possible as he whispered a thank you to everyone. Snape frowned.

Platters and bowls started moving around the table and, as they filled their plates, bits and pieces of conversation began to take place. Once he'd filled his plate and made sure Harry had a little bit of everything, Snape looked up to find half a dozen pairs of eyes trained on him. "Yes?" he asked, uncertain about what he'd missed.

"I do believe an explanation is in order, Severus," said Minerva tartly, dishing up a helping of baked beans and plopping them onto her plate. "We thought you were dead!"

His knife and fork poised above his food, Snape grimaced slightly as Harry's fingers dug into his thigh. "Had our paths crossed but six months ago, I would have told you to go stuff yourself," he admitted, "but I have since learnt that I may have had more of an impact on the lives of others than I knew. For that I beg your pardon."

"Hmpf," snorted Minerva, though her eyes glittered as she speared a chunk of parsnip with her fork. "Horace has barely a tenth the knowledge of Potions you have."

Underneath Minerva's dismissive words, Snape heard her forgiveness. "The night of the last battle, I'd received word that I was wanted by Voldemort so I went to the Shrieking Shack immediately after I duelled with you. From what I am led to believe, Lucius Apparated to my side moments after Harry and his friends had left me, and he wasted no time summoning several of his house-elves to aid me. They refused to allow me to perish and, being in a weakened state, I did not have the willpower to thwart their efforts.

"It was largely due to Draco's efforts that I survived. Once I had recovered sufficiently to live on my own, I elected to sell the house at Spinner's End and combine the proceeds with the earnings I had squirreled away during my years at Hogwarts. That, along with a small legacy from Albus, enabled me to purchase a rather sizeable estate in Muggle London where I own and operate a rather exclusive club."

Arthur's eyes lit up. "You live amongst Muggles, Severus? Have you a fracks machine? I hear it can produce pictures out of thin air!"

Snape saw Harry's eyes briefly light up in amusement, his soft smile there and gone far too quickly. Before Snape could answer Arthur, Minerva said, "A club, Severus? You? Own a club? A place where like-minded people congregate, engage in pleasant conversation and socialise together?"

Harry's face turned florid, and he busied himself with the triangle of chicken and cranberry chutney sandwich Snape had set on his plate, though his hand only left Snape's thigh when strictly necessary.

"Yes, Professor," Draco interjected, "I've been there, though not as a guest, strictly speaking. He has a well-trained staff, a top-notch chef and is developing quite the reputation amongst the posh set." He paused before taking a bite of his sandwich. "That's where I stumbled across Harry. Almost literally, as it happens."

The fork slipped from Harry's fingers and clattered to his plate as his fingers all but dug holes in Snape's leg. "I don't remember," he whispered, ashen.

Worry furrowed into Arthur's forehead, and concern filled his eyes. "Are you all right, son?"

Harry winced and shook his head as he started to rise, but Snape forestalled him. "Sit, Potter," he said quietly, though his tone indicated he expected to be obeyed. "Eat your salad." He leant over and whispered, "Though you are amongst friends, I will not let anyone hurt you."

Before the moment could become awkward, Astoria said, "I was speaking with Harry earlier about Sev's club. Harry's been working there for a few months now. I'd never really thought about all that must go into keeping a restaurant running smoothly, but Harry's filled me in on quite a lot."

"Harry likes being useful," said Luna. "I expect Professor Snape keeps him rather busy."

"As I am no longer a teacher," said Snape, "I would prefer being addressed as Severus, or Sev if you'd rather." His dark eyes cut over to Neville. "Yes, Mr, Longbottom, even by you."

Neville gulped and then squared his shoulders, meeting Snape's eyes directly. "If you'll do the same, though if you prefer to use my surname, please call me Professor as I am a teacher now."

"So I've heard," acknowledged Snape as he glanced at Harry, pleased to see that he was eating now that he was no longer the centre of attention. "Herbology, I expect. Has Pomona retired?"

The conversation turned to the goings on at Hogwarts. Both Snape and Draco despaired about the goings-on in Slytherin House and debated whether the reputation of that House could ever be salvaged. As they ate, ideas were floated: everything from moving them out of the dungeons to abolishing the House altogether. Minerva thought perhaps she should have a chat with the Sorting Hat.

"Make Harry Potter Head of Slytherin House," said Luna calmly and the table fell silent as all eyes turned once again to Harry, who was busy staring at Luna as though she'd just uttered the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

"I-I can't," he stammered. "How about Neville? He led Dumbledore's Army and he's a professor now," he suggested somewhat desperately.

"Can't either, mate," replied Neville with a grin. "I'm for Gryffindor House next year. Both Slughorn and Pomona are retiring, so we'll need two new Heads of House. Now, if Draco were to take the Potions spot and you took the Defence post, we'd have a full staff and Minerva would be able to sort out the problem with the Heads."

"I'm curious, Mr Potter," said Minerva, "about why you feel you can't take Slytherin House?"

Draping his arm across the top of Harry's chair, Snape turned slightly, easing his leg under Harry's death grip. He, too, was curious about what Harry's response would be.

Keeping his eyes trained on his plate, Harry said nervously, "Well, there was that thing with Wood…"

Sensing the conversation was about to become serious, Astoria pulled her wand and sent the dishes towards the kitchen. "It might be time for a bit of sherry, dear. Why don't you show everyone to the sitting room, and I'll put on the kettle for those who would like tea?"

Giving his wife a warm smile, Draco rose and ushered everyone from one end of the large room to the other, where there were now several more small couches and chairs than there had been an hour ago. Once at the sideboard, he poured several glasses of sherry, of firewhisky, of brandy, and he set them alongside a steaming teapot on an ornate silver tray before offering them to his guests.

Once everyone was settled with a drink of some sort, Minerva's sharp grey eyes focussed on Harry. "As you were saying, there was that 'thing' with Wood."

Harry opened his mouth, but no words would come out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I reckon you found out I'm queer," he said through his shame. He lowered his head and directed his words to his knees. "Though I'm trying hard not to be. The thing is, the wizarding world doesn't want my kind around."

Molly gazed despairingly at Harry through watery eyes. "What happened after you left the Burrow, Harry? Once Ron and Hermione left for their honeymoon, we started searching for you."

"Kingsley even had the Auror Corps help," added Arthur. "Robards said they all but turned wizarding London upside down."

"I went to Godric's Hollow, thinking perhaps you'd gone there," said Molly. "And owled Hogwarts. We sent Percy—"

"His name is Percy?" interrupted Draco, then blushed as Snape shot him a quelling look. "Sorry."

"We sent Percy to stay at Grimmauld Place for awhile," continued Molly, "in case you went back there. We even tried going into Knockturn Alley a few times, but the Aurors said it was too dangerous, and they already had people chasing down leads."

Snape snarled. "Would those be the same Aurors who were purportedly searching for him?"

Molly nodded vigorously. "We checked in with them regularly, until Ron got back."

"Ron was searching for me?" asked Harry sharply, his head coming up at last.

As Molly's lips tightened into a thin line, Arthur shook his head. "No, son. I’m sorry to say he's not come around in his thinking, not entirely. Nor has Ginny. We, ahh, haven't spoken to them in the better part of a year."

Harry moaned softly and buried his face in the arm of the small sofa he was sharing with Snape, who rested his hand in the middle of Harry's back. "It's not your fault, Potter," he murmured. "You cannot adopt this as your responsibility. He has made his choice in this matter and must live with the consequence of his decision."

Turning on Snape, Harry glared at him with reddened eyes and roared, "I didn't choose this and I don't want it! Why won't you accept that?"

"Because I will not help you live a lie," gritted Snape. "You are gay, Harry. Why won't _you_ accept _that_?"

Before the argument could devolve into a shouting match, Arthur cleared his throat. "There is something, Harry, I believe you should know." He took a sip of firewhisky and exchanged a glance with Molly. "I've lived long enough to know I've made my share of mistakes. Certainly one cannot rear seven children without committing an error or two. The day I turned you out of the Burrow, Harry, was one of the very worst of my life. I would give almost anything to have that moment back."

When Arthur finally caught Harry's eyes, his own were misty. "Though I've done nothing to deserve it, I beg your forgiveness, Harry. It was ill done of me, and I am terribly sorry about the choice I made."

Harry stared, the tears he'd been fighting swimming to the surface. "You've done nothing that needs forgiveness, sir. It's all my fault. If I hadn't been this way, you wouldn't have had to tell me to go."

"Is that what you think?" cried Molly. "Oh, Arthur, what have we done?" She broke down completely, weeping into her hands as Minerva came over to comfort her.

"Harry," began Arthur, his usually pink face pale and drawn. "That day, when Ginny demanded you leave, we gave her our support because she is our daughter, not because you're queer. Despite what that wretched _Prophet_ wrote, there exist witches and wizards who are accepting of, ahh, differences. The ones who aren't—and I will admit they are the majority—make more noise about it."

"We've always considered you one of ours, Harry," sniffled Molly, tears falling in steady rivulets down her cheeks. "And for one of the few times ever, we chose sides. There hasn't been a day gone by we've not regretted it."

"But you had to support Ginny," Harry said blankly, almost too shell-shocked to respond. "She's your daughter and sh-she deserved better."

"Ginny was not entirely blameless in what happened with Wood," Arthur replied heavily. "She heard the rumours about you out of Portree—"

Harry's face went stark white.

"—as well as about another dozen or so players in the league," continued Arthur. "One of those was Wood. She invited him to the wedding and dropped a few hints in his ear."

"Had Wood heard the same rumours?" asked Draco, exchanging a significant glance with Snape.

"Yes, I do believe he had. At the reception, she made a point of dancing with as many men as possible, hoping you'd notice, Harry, and became jealous when she realized that wasn't likely to happen. She sent Wood to your table, and she tipped off the photographer." Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. "What she claims she had forgotten, though, was about the press. She swears the photographs were meant to be private, just between the two of you. She wanted you to marry her or admit to your nature."

"How did you find this out?" asked Harry in a strangled voice. He reached for Snape's hand and gripped it so hard that Snape thought his bones were in imminent danger of shattering.

Arthur's face became grim and Molly's reddened eyes flashed. "I overheard her speaking with George when she returned to Grimmauld Place. She bragged about what she'd nearly done to you. Harry, I am so sorry."

"You are not the one who owes him an apology for that, Molly," said Snape, lacing his fingers through Harry's in an attempt to avoid injury. He leant close and murmured, "You are not alone, Harry. I am here."

Shooting Snape a panicked look, Harry turned his attention back to Molly before shaking his head. "It's done and she missed." Still, he couldn't help but give his own lap a relieved look. "What happened next?" he asked, his breath starting to come in sharp gasps.

"We had another dust-up, this time in the kitchen," sighed Arthur. "Ginny said some things that weren't very nice. I shan't repeat them here. Charlie took offense and accused her of setting you up. She did not deny it and, when Bill questioned her, she admitted what she'd done.

"Bill, Charlie and Percy refused to have anything to do with her after that. Ron and Hermione sided with Ginny. I doubt that would have lasted long had Ron's partner not insinuated there was more to your Horcrux hunt than anyone suspected. By the time Ron returned to work, most of the Aurors were convinced he was bent and had married Hermione to keep the suspicions at bay."

As Harry's breathing grew more and more ragged, Luna rose to her feet and Draco pulled his wand to cast a Bubble-Head Charm at Harry to keep him from hyperventilating. "Have you a small mirror?" Luna asked Draco. "A hand mirror would be best."

Turning to his wife, Draco arched a brow at Astoria in silent question. "I think so," she replied. She thought for a moment and Summoned an oval mirror in an ornate frame. "It only looks fancy," she said as she placed it in Luna's hand.

All eyes turned to Neville, who shrugged. "Where's Hermione in all this?" he asked as Luna pointed her wand at the mirror and began murmuring incantations. "She never deserted Harry before, even when everyone else did."

Before anyone could answer, though, Snape asked, "Have you any Calming Draught?" He turned fretful eyes on Harry. Though his colour had improved slightly, beads of cold sweat still dotted Harry's upper lip and he was visibly trembling.

Smacking himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand, Draco winced. "Some Healer I am," he muttered. He Summoned a phial, added a dollop to a cup of sweetened tea and pressed it into Harry's hands. "Drink this. The heat will help."

"Thanks," said Harry shakily, accepting the doctored tea and swallowing it as quickly as he could. Once finished, he leant his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. "I'd like to know about Hermione as well," he said. He lifted his head as Luna strolled out onto the balcony, mirror in hand.

"Ahh, yes. Hermione." Arthur shifted in his chair and rested his ankle on his knee. "Though she's not said so in so many words, I believe she feels somewhat guilty about what happened to you and her part in it. I spoke with Percy not too long ago—he's become close to George since the war—and he told me Ron has said more than once how he wishes he'd known what Ginny had done before defended her honour. Hermione just wants to understand why you didn't say anything earlier, since she was your best friend."

"Ron has always felt protective of Ginny," explained Molly. "As were the twins, so now that they don't come to the Burrow, Ron and Hermione meet up with Ginny, George and Angelina for Sunday supper. George and Percy talk when George needs something approved by the Ministry and Percy shares everything with the rest of us."

"Oh, god, I ruined your family," moaned Harry. "How can you stand to be in the same room with me?"

Arthur drew in a sharp breath. "No, son. That's not the way of it at all. Listen to me very carefully. Molly and I love you as you are. If Ginny had left you for someone else, would you feel somehow less worthy of our love? Of course you wouldn't. If you had left Ginny, would you believe you were less welcome under our roof than before? I hope not, Harry, because we would have thought you no less a member of our family for it.

"As for the family, we have survived worse than this. Percy absented himself from us for years, only to return to the fold almost in the same moment Fred was killed. Sooner or later, Ron, Ginny and Hermione will see the error of their ways and, when they do, we will welcome them home with open arms. Whether Ron, Hermione and Ginny ever mend fences with you is between the four of you, but you are my son, Harry, and you will always have a place in my heart and in my home."

"Listen to Arthur, dear," said Molly warmly. "Were it not for the blood protection given to you by your aunt we would have taken you in, but since we couldn't, Arthur and I agreed we'd consider you ours and treat you accordingly. That's why Bill and I came to the third task back when you were the Triwizard Champion. Honestly, Harry, Arthur and I will be just as happy to welcome any young man into the fold as we would any girl you might have brought home."

That Harry didn't understand was readily apparent. As they looked on, he curled into Snape's side, the trust in him implicit. He slipped a finger under a glasses lens and rubbed his eye. "Why don't Ron and Hermione come to the Burrow?" he asked, grasping for something that made sense.

"If you've ever taken a stand about something, Harry, and later discovered you were completely in the wrong, then I think you'll understand where Ron and Hermione are right now. They're kneazles stuck in the topmost branches of a tree with no idea how to get down."

"And Ginny?" Harry croaked.

"Dreadfully ashamed of herself—"

"As well she should be," snarled Molly. "Sorry, dear," she added, though she didn't look very sorry at all.

"And completely unable to admit that what she did was terribly wrong. Charlie won't set foot in the house if she's there, not until she apologises."

"To whom?" asked Snape, still wishing he could hold the miscreants at wandpoint and cause them as much pain as Harry had endured.

Arthur blinked. "A most excellent question, Severus. I suspect Charlie was willing to hear it on Harry's behalf. Now that Harry's been found, he will want nothing less than a formal apology made to Harry directly. Molly and I have not told any of the children that you've returned, Harry, but we would like to let them know, if you're willing that is. I know Bill and Charlie will be beside themselves to learn you're alive and well."

"Let me think about it?" pleaded Harry. "It's all a bit much to take in right now. There's one thing I don't get: why is Charlie so mad at Ginny?"

There was a pronounced silence before Arthur spoke. "Bear in mind that we don't know for certain, but we suspect Charlie is gay as well."

"He's nearly thirty-three years old, and he's never once had a girlfriend," said Molly. "Never. He moved to the other side of the Continent to a place no one knew him the moment he left Hogwarts, and he claims he's never met a girl as interesting as a dragon, though his letters imply he doesn't lack for company. Then there was the way he came to your rescue the day after the wedding. He's taken this all quite personally, you know."

A small part of Snape snarled at the implication that Charlie might have more than just a brotherly interest in Harry, and he draped a protective arm around Harry's shoulders. "If I may offer—"

The sliding door opened and Luna strolled in, smiling broadly. Coming to an abrupt halt, she blinked and gazed around the room with her oddly protuberant eyes. "My goodness. Leave for five minutes and everyone's auras get in a lather." She walked into the room and studied Harry with a critical eye. "At least the Wrackspurts are going away."

Snape drew back as she approached, watching her with no small amount of alarm. He had never understood Luna Lovegood, and things he did not comprehend bothered him immensely. He knew Harry had nothing to fear from the witch, though, as she was, remarkably enough, most likely his greatest ally.

"It took a little doing," said Luna in her high, clear voice, "but I think I have the enchantments right. Mirrors can be rather tricky to charm, you know, since they have their own way of seeing things, but I've managed to persuade it all the same." She gazed into it and sighed happily. "Yes, that's me."

"Were you, perhaps, expecting to see someone else?" asked Snape, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Luna ignored him. "Now you look, Harry." She handed him the mirror and gazed at him expectantly.

* * * * * *

  
Harry took the mirror with reluctance. He knew what he'd see in it—a skinny, myopic man with messy black hair, great green eyes and an ugly scar on his forehead. He peeked into it and nearly dropped it with fright. The _thing_ —there was no other word for it, really—that stared back at him had enormous, knowing eyes, long, thick eyelashes, a largish head, pursed lips no bigger than a knut and an extraordinarily pointed chin. Whatever was in the mirror was a hyper-sexualised, very fey adolescent, barely past puberty and wearing a mockery of his face.

"Luna," he said shakily as he lowered the mirror. "What did you do to this?"

"That's how you see yourself, Harry," she said. "The mirror reflects the interpretation of the person holding it. That reflection is only true for yourself. If I were to take it," she said as she removed the mirror from his hand, "and hold it up to you.... Go ahead and look."

He did as she asked, seeing this time a strong, determined young man surrounded by friends and smiling brightly. The man in the mirror was far more handsome than Harry had ever been in his life and much happier than he ever remembered being. "It's like the Mirror of Erised," he whispered.

Luna smiled. "Not exactly, but there is some wish magic involved. You were the first friend I ever had, you know, and you always seem the most you when you're with people you care about." She looked past Harry at her husband, who was watching her with a bit of awe. "Neville, come show Harry what he looks like. All you have to do is think about what he means to you and what you want for him."

Ambling over with his usual shy smile, Neville gave Luna a sweet kiss as he took the mirror from her hand. "Ready, Harry?" he asked, concentrating all his thoughts on his long-lost friend.

Harry stood up, feeling a bit less vulnerable, a bit less cowardly on his feet. He gazed at his friend with uncertain eyes and swallowed. "Ready," he said, and, as Neville brought the mirror up, he looked inside. He was met with a very different scene than the one that Luna had shown him. He was closing the door to a cupboard filled with accolades that meant little to him: the Triwizard cup, Orders of Merlin, news clippings and plaques with his name on them, and walking through a modest house. His mirror self sat down at a kitchen table across from a man for whom he quite obviously cared a great deal and gave the man a tender smile.

"It doesn't bother you that I-I'm this way?" asked Harry in a near hush.

As he lowered the mirror, Neville shook his head. "Remember back when everybody found out you're a Parselmouth?" After Harry nodded, he continued. "We were a bit afraid of you for a few days, but we figured out you were still just Harry and there was nothing to be afraid of. It's a bit like that, really. I mean, I wondered if you'd ever fancied me, but once I got past the strangeness of that, I realised it really didn't matter if you did or you didn't, you know? It'd be weird, but flattering in a way."

A strange, half-choked laugh burst out of Harry. "I can't say that I ever fancied you, and now I don't know whether to apologise for that or not." He offered his hand to Neville, and was surprised when he was pulled into a hug. His traitorous eyes filled, and he blinked back tears as he returned the embrace.

"You're next, Draco," announced Luna, taking Harry by the hand and leading him across the room. Neville followed behind with the mirror and, as he handed it to Draco, a warning flashed in the depths of his brown eyes. _You will not hurt this man._

Draco sighed as nearly everyone eyed him with varying levels of distrust. "Have a look," he said.

They were sitting in the cafeteria of St Mungo's, both Harry and Draco in the lime green robes of a Healer. Harry was apparently demonstrating something to Draco, who was paying rapt attention to what Harry was saying. Draco's hair was thinner, and Harry was a bit older. A bright circle of gold surrounded the third finger of his left hand, and Draco was giving him a fond smile of the sort he used to get from Ron.

"I'm a Healer? And married?" asked Harry quietly as he tore his gaze away, wanting to keep this between the two of them, which was nearly impossible given the circumstances. "To whom?"

"I think you know," replied Draco in equally hushed tones, his eyes drifting past Harry to settle on Snape. "We'll talk about it later, but I think you should know the road is open to you."

"Molly, I think," said Luna decisively, before Harry could do much more than stare. "Then Professor McGonagall." As Draco passed the mirror to Molly, Luna escorted a shaken Harry over.

It amused him to some extent to be led around the room like a child, but having seen three versions of himself in the past few minutes, Harry was enormously grateful for her steadying presence. "Luna, are you certain this is true? That this isn't some sort of weird Legilimency thing you've managed?"

"Did you see us as friends, Harry?" asked Draco, before the slender witch had a chance to respond. "As colleagues? If you did, then the mirror is working the way she wants it to."

Harry blanched, and Molly sprang to her feet. "Poor thing, you're shaking like a leaf! Sit down, dear. We'll come to you." She manoeuvred him into nearby chair and felt his forehead. "Hmm. No fever, but you look a bit peaky."

"Rough day," muttered Harry, bracing to see Molly's version of himself. He took a steadying breath as she brought the mirror up. To no great surprise, he saw himself at the Burrow, sitting at the long trestle table before a plate laden with food. That no one seemed upset by his companion was the astonishing part.

On one side of him sat a tall, slender man of indeterminate characteristics; Ron was on the other side with Hermione next to him. Everyone was eating except Ginny, who was standing in the living room with her arms crossed. Charlie was at the table as well, with a shadowy man of his own. He guessed that Ginny and Charlie had mended fences enough to be under the same roof, but not enough to be in the same room. It was noisy to judge from the number of people talking, and in the distance he could see a gaggle of children playing outside. Harry said nothing as he tore his eyes from the scene.

"Give it time, dear," said Molly with an achingly familiar smile. "I believe it's more likely than not." She patted his knee and gave the mirror to Minerva.

A wry grin appeared on Harry's face as the Headmistress of Hogwarts School came to stand before him, stern and proper as always. "I feel rather like the night Ron and I arrived by flying car and I was worried about being expelled." Of all the people he knew, Snape being the sole exception, she had never mollycoddled him and, of all his classroom teachers, he hated most of all to disappoint her.

"I should think you'd be more worried about being assigned a few hundred lines," she replied in her usual brisk manner. "'I will learn to accept myself the way I am' would be a decent place to start. Shall I get parchment and quill?"

Harry flushed and quickly shook his head, unable to meet her steady gaze. "No, Professor. That won't be necessary."

"Never forget you are a Gryffindor, Harry, and you have faced far greater challenges than this," she said gently. "And I do understand how difficult this is for you. You're not the first young man I've helped along the path to self-acceptance. There have been many who have travelled that road before you, and there are many more who will follow in your footsteps."

Not knowing quite what to say, Harry merely nodded as he tried to imagine anyone confiding a secret like that to Minerva McGonagall. It was bad enough that she knew; the only point in her favour was that she would never share it with a living soul.

The Harry he saw in the mirror was one he knew. A little taller perhaps, but most people over-estimated his height. He was striding through the Great Hall as if he owned the place, nodding to various students as he took his place at the Head Table. Next to him sat Snape, for once in a good mood, judging from the fact he wasn't scowling at anyone. He waved a greeting to Neville and began dishing food onto his plate. It was an ordinary day at Hogwarts, and a part of him wished that it could come true.

"The Defence post is yours if you want it, Harry," said Minerva. "And Severus may claim the position of Potions Master any time he pleases." She straightened and turned to Draco. "I daresay you might even be ready to take Madam Pomfrey's place in about five years time, though I'm not certain she's in any hurry to retire." She handed the mirror to Arthur, deciding on her own that it was his turn.

"You do know what to do, yes?" asked Luna from her perch on the arm of Neville's chair.

As it was both magical and a mirror, Arthur examined it first, checking the spellwork to make sure it was holding. He'd had enough experience with failed charms to know it was wise to exercise a little caution. He twirled it in his hand and gazed expectantly at Harry. "Ready?"

It took Harry a moment to place the scene, but when he did he grinned for the first time that day. It was the Weasleys’ shed, crammed full of Muggle gadgets of all sorts. Arthur was showing Harry and his mystery man his latest acquisitions, asking questions so quickly that Harry couldn't answer one before three more had spilled forth. His mirror self leant against a workbench and smiled up at his partner, and Mr Weasley laughed at something the man said. It was so bloody _normal_ that he just had to laugh, too.

"Thanks, Mr Weasley," said Harry. "You've given me a lot to think about." Father and son things, assurance that the things he wanted, that he craved, wouldn't lead to more rejection and shame. There was nothing in what Mr Weasley had shown him that appeared in any way insurmountable. No pie-in-the-sky hopes for lollipops and kittens. Just a typical moment in a typical day.

"It's my turn, yes?" said Astoria as she bounded across the room. She stopped suddenly and her hand went to her mouth. "Oh, how terribly presumptuous of me. I'm sorry, Harry. We've only just met."

"No, it's all right," Harry assured her. "It's all been rather amazing, really. I'd forgotten..." His voice trailed off as his eyes swept through the room. "I allowed myself to forget what it is to have friends. I've never been good at asking for help, you see, and I didn't know I could. I'd like to know, really, if you're comfortable letting me see it."

"That's very kind of you," she said and held the mirror up.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without warning, Harry saw himself locked in a passionate embrace with Draco. They were kissing hungrily, their hands moving over naked bodies. He turned scarlet, the blush starting somewhere around his toes, sweeping through his body and singeing off his hair. His eyes darted around the room as he searched for a safe place to look.

Dumbfounded, Astoria peeked over the top of the mirror—and promptly dropped it. "Oh, dear Merlin!" she gasped. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." Her hands flew to her mouth and she spun on her heel, turning mortified blue eyes on Draco.

"It's the hormones. Oh, Merlin, I can't believe that happened." Her blue eyes filled with tears and she sought the refuge of her husband's arms, burying her face in his chest.

"Astoria's pregnant," Draco explained to the confused masses, "though I've no idea what happened in the mirror."

"Err," said Harry weakly. "We were, umm, making out. You and me. Rather a lot, actually."

There was an oddly strangled cough from Snape as Luna crawled forward to retrieve the mirror, and Minerva offered her congratulations to Astoria and Draco. "I look forward to seeing your child's name entered into the Book of Lists, Mr Malfoy. I expect he or she will be Sorted into Slytherin House like the rest of the Malfoys."

"You must let me know what colours you choose for the nursery," Molly chimed in. "It's not too soon to start knitting for the baby."

"You're planning to knit for us?" asked Draco, his face carefully blank.

Molly rose to her feet and stood before him, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "I realise there is a long and sordid history between the Weasleys and the Malfoys. As I recall, we've never been on the same side of anything. But you brought our Harry back to us, and I should think that wipes the slate clean on both sides."

Before anyone quite knew what was happening, Molly had wrapped her arms around Draco and Astoria and was kissing them both on their cheeks.

* * * * * *

  
As the mirror had made its way around the room, Snape had focussed his attention entirely on Harry, cataloguing for further reflection every emotion that swept across the young man's face. It had been a rather fascinating exercise to watch the impressive Ms. Lovegood manoeuvre Harry around the room, and he speculated that she had manipulated events to afford him as much privacy as possible given the circumstances.

He caught her eye as she came to her feet, mirror in hand, and a flash of understanding passed between them. Not for nothing had Luna been placed in Ravenclaw. She was a keen observer of the human condition, gleaning from the clues that Harry had scattered meagrely through his speech that the issue with which he grappled most was his own self-image.

Luna sat down next to him, the mirror held loosely in her hands, dangling precipitously above the floor. "I wonder, Ms. Lovegood. Luna," he corrected, speaking quietly to her as he watched Harry converse with Astoria. "Should I procure a similar mirror to the one you hold, would you be able to replicate the charms you cast upon it?"

"Perhaps," she said thoughtfully as she set the mirror in her lap and swung her legs back and forth, "if the mirror chooses to cooperate. I wouldn't force him to use it, though it could serve as a reminder now and again in case he needs to remember who he is. I think different charms would be more helpful, though. Something that shows how far he's come. I'll send word once I have it sorted."

As they spoke, Harry approached, his manner diffident, almost awkward. "I was wondering, Sir, if you were going to use the mirror," he said as he stood before them. "Everyone else has."

Luna started to hand it to him, but Snape waved it off. Knowing he would have no control over what Harry saw, he was reluctant to reveal the secrets buried deep within his heart. "You know full well what I think of you, Potter. I need not use a mirror to show you what you see every day." It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw a flicker of relief in Harry's eyes.

"I also wanted to tell you," Harry continued as Luna excused herself and went over to join the Weasleys in conversation "that we've been invited to the Burrow for dinner Tuesday next. Molly thought it best if it were just the four of us. I think they want to know about everything."

"Would you like to go, Harry?" asked Snape, shifting as Harry took the place Luna had occupied.

For a moment, Harry appeared troubled. "I don't want to go alone." He snorted in disgust. "Which is really stupid of me. I've only been there a thousand times."

"You are far too hard on yourself. I would be pleased to accompany you. Shall I arrange the details with Arthur? I wish to impress upon them that it would be inappropriate at this point to have any other members of their brood join us."

Doubt shone in Harry's eyes. "They said the four of us."

"And there are at least three other Weasleys dying for any information about you," reminded Snape.

"True." Harry sank back into the couch and watched everyone chattering away. "Okay," he said finally, "you go speak with the Weasleys while I go to the loo." They both stood, and Harry found Draco to ask for directions while Snape approached Arthur.

"Ahh, Severus," said Arthur. "Just the one I was wanting to see. I must say I had the shock of my life when you walked in with young Harry. How Draco managed to keep a secret of such magnitude escapes me, but he never breathed a word. And you chose to live amongst Muggles? How extraordinary!"

"I did," confirmed Snape. "I am told—"

"Why though?" interrupted Arthur, his eyes alight with curiosity. "You were awarded the Order of Merlin, posthumously, of course, since none of us knew you were alive. Harry demanded the Ministry acknowledge all you had done for our side during the war, you know. I would have thought you would resurface and go back to Hogwarts."

Snape shook his head. "It was a relief to learn I was thought dead. Despite Potter's campaign for the rehabilitation of my character, I have no desire to return to the wizarding world. My opportunities there are…" He paused. "Rather limited."

"But you're—were a brilliant Potions Master, despite what Fred and George thought. Most of the children thought you a rather tough professor, if a bit unfair."

"It was necessary, especially in later years" said Snape dismissively. "I loathed teaching, and Hogwarts can be a very lonely place for a man such as me." Snape's chin came up slightly and gazed directly at Arthur, waiting to see if the man caught the reference.

Arthur coloured slightly and glanced briefly down the corridor Harry had disappeared into. "I had wondered. I couldn't help but notice that Harry rather comfortable with you, more so than with the rest of us. For all the boy craves affection, he seldom reaches out to people, but he does with you."

"He has had no one to rely upon but himself for far too long. As he has chosen to trust me, I will do not anything to abuse him of it. Now, about the invitation you have extended…"

"Yes?"

"I am given to understand that you have invited me to accompany Harry to the Burrow, is that correct?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes. Harry will be more at ease if you are there. We know that Harry suffered terribly after he left our home. You cannot know how much I regret turning him out of the Burrow that day. Of course, we would not have done had we any inkling that he thought it was because he's queer. We thought he'd spend a day or two at Grimmauld Place, and once things had quieted and Ron and Hermione were gone, we'd bring him home.

"What happened after that, Severus, do you know? Draco's told us almost nothing, just that he was called at home to attend to an emergency, and that going to St Mungo's was out of the question. He said it wasn't until after he arrived that he discovered that Harry was his patient." Every line in Arthur's face was etched with worry and guilt clouded his eyes. Guilt that Harry did not need to see.

Snape's words were slow and measured. "I am reluctant to say much as I believe Harry needs to tell you himself what has transpired during the past few years. I will, however, tell you that the day he appeared he had been assaulted, and his few remaining possessions had been stolen. His assailants cornered him and, believing himself to be mortal danger, Harry Apparated wandlessly to 'someplace safe', as he put it.

"Without knowing where he was going, without knowing I was alive, he appeared in my entryway, half-starved, beaten and badly Splinched." His dark eyes swept over the small gathering and connected momentarily with Draco's, who was quite obviously listening with half an ear. "I contacted Draco and we took care of him. He has remained with me ever since."

"We want him to come home," said Arthur quite unexpectedly. "I don't think Molly will get a good night's sleep until Harry is safe under our roof where he belongs."

Snape drew back and looked at Arthur with undisguised horror. His insides twisted, and his heart lurched oddly in his chest. "I beg your pardon?"

Arthur tilted his head, his eyes narrowed in speculation at the panic so evident in Snape's face. "I noticed you chose not to show Harry the mirror. What would he have seen, Severus?"

The change of subject threw him off-stride, and Snape considered his options very carefully. Had this been almost anyone else, he would have turned and walked away; but this was Harry's family—to the extent that he had one—and Snape owed Arthur the truth. "What would Molly see," he asked slowly, "if you held the mirror up to her?"

"A man in love with his wife." Arthur was silent for awhile as his eyes searched Snape's face. "I will not apologise for my presumption, Severus. He is my son, and he's suffered so much. I want to trust you with him, so I will ask: do you love him?

The spy vanished, the dungeon master faded, the formidable Potions Master faltered. For one of the few times in his life, Severus Snape was uncertain, exposed. "Yes," he finally admitted. "Completely. With everything I am." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. "I beg you, Arthur, say nothing. He does not know."

Reaching out, Arthur clasped Snape lightly on the shoulder. "It is between the two of you to come to some understanding. Or not, as the case may be." His hand fell away. "If I may ask," though they both knew he would, and that Snape would answer. "What are your intentions toward him?"

"I wish to see him happy," Snape said finally. "As I have told Harry, I want to see him accept himself for who he is." His eyes sharpened as he looked at Arthur. "I believe you and Molly will be instrumental in that."

"And we will help him in any way we can. Now about dinner," said Arthur with a touch of relief. The hard part was over. "We will expect you and Harry at half six on Tuesday next. As we have not secured Harry's permission, we will say nothing to the others."

It occurred to Snape that, under different circumstances, Arthur might well have become his father-in-law. The thought was disconcerting. "I appreciate hearing that. He is still too uncertain of his reception to endure an encounter with the rest of your family, no matter how well-intentioned they are. It was one of the things he asked me to discuss with you."

"He asked? Or you elected?" asked Arthur with a bit of a smile.

"I elected," said Snape, with a slight nod to Arthur. "I find I am somewhat over-protective as far as he is concerned. It is habit, I suppose. He has come quite a long way since he found me, but he pushes himself too hard."

"Isn't that for me to decide?" asked Harry, giving Arthur a shy smile as he came up to stand beside Snape. "Between you and Draco, it's a wonder I'm allowed to do more than turn a page in a book. Is everything sorted?"

"Brat. Of course it is. We are set to dine with the Weasleys next week," said Snape with a brief nod to Arthur.

Harry blinked and then grinned at them both. "Okay." He glanced around. "I expect I should mingle. Let me know when it's time to go home."

"As you wish." Snape's eyes followed Harry as he sat down with Neville. He excused himself and went to speak with Minerva as he continued to monitor Harry's friends. To Snape's relief, after a few hesitant exchanges, Harry and Neville began chatting more easily. Luna soon joined them, then Draco, and Snape released the breath he'd been holding all afternoon as Harry began to relax in their company.

In another corner, Astoria was paying rapt attention to Molly and Arthur as they regaled her with stories about their sizeable brood. Every so often she would blush and laugh, her eyes sliding over to where Draco sat. Snape imagined their pillow talk tonight would be filled with dreams of the future. Though he was unlikely to admit it to anyone save Harry, he was looking forward to watching the next generation of Malfoys grow up.

For his own part, Snape spent the rest of the time moving easily between groups, adding bits and pieces to the conversation. All in all it was a much better outing than he'd hoped for, and when they finally took their leave, Harry seemed genuinely sorry to go.

* * * * * *

  
It was a very different silence on the way home. Though neither of them ever felt the need to fill the quiet with mindless talk, Harry's earlier anxiety appeared to have vanished. He struck Snape as being inwardly pleased, as though he had made up his mind about something and was at peace with his decision.

"Did Draco and Astoria speak with you?" asked Harry as they skirted the boundary of Regent's Park on their way back to Salazar's. He was sprawled comfortably in the front seat, miraculously not severed in half by the seat belt.

"Upon numerous occasions. Was there a particular topic you had in mind?" Snape glanced over at Harry in time to see a most wistful smile emerge before he had to return his attention to the motorway.

Harry gnawed on the inside of his cheek before answering, something he did when he was nervous or very uncertain about the answer. "They want us to be godparents. Together." Harry waited for a reaction. "You and me."

"Yes, I am familiar with the definition of the word," replied Snape as his pulse rate skyrocketed. "And?"

"And what?"

"Surely you have some opinion on the matter? And kindly desist from chewing on your lip. You have nothing to fear from me."

Harry was quiet for long enough that Snape was beginning to think he had chosen not to say what was on his mind. And then, "I heard what you said."

Snape's mind went blank before he was filled with paralyzing fear. He gave Harry a quick glance, brow arched in question, not trusting himself to speak. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and he busied himself with checking in the outside mirrors.

"To Mr Weasley." Harry waited a beat, then added, "It's not unrequited, Sev."

Only Harry Potter would say something so life-altering in the middle of Saturday afternoon traffic, and Snape was so busy wondering if his heart would restart that he nearly ploughed into the motorcar in front of them. To the end of his days, Snape would wonder how they managed not to cause an accident. To the end of his, Harry would smile and say "magic."

"Shall I then assume," said Snape cautiously, once he had regained his powers of speech, "that you...that _we_ will be accepting the Malfoys’ invitation to stand as godparents to their child?"

For a moment, Snape thought Harry was about to burst into tears, and he knew there would be a number of conversations about weighty matters in the very near future.

After Harry had regained control of his runaway emotions, he nodded. "I have a godson," said Harry thickly. "Teddy Lupin. I've not seen him in over three years, and I miss him so much. He must be going on eight now and I didn't get to see him grow up.

"I'm not going to get to have kids, and I wanted them, wanted to have a chance to do it right. If being godfather to Draco's baby is as close as I'm going to get, then I'll take it—happily." Harry turned, his great green eyes earnest. "I want to feel like I have a family of my own, even if it's only make-believe."

As he drove along the motorway, Snape knew his life was about to undergo a sweeping change, and he was astonished to discover that he didn't mind very much at all.

When they arrived home, Snape found himself being towed up the stairs by an energised Harry Potter. Giving Nia a shrug and a helpless wave, he bounded along behind, trying to keep his randier thoughts at bay. There was something about the way Harry's trousers clung to the gentle curve of his arse that appealed to his baser nature, and it was almost impossible to keep his eyes away.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Snape found himself pressed up against the wall, Harry's lips hard on his own. Snape took control of the kiss, deepening it, his tongue plying gently against the seam of Harry's lips, seeking no more than the promise of a taste. When Harry's mouth opened under his, his tongue slipped softly inside, the exploration gentle and unhurried.

One kiss ended and another began, and another and another, and Snape drank away Harry's impatience, replacing it with a slow, unhurried discovery of each other. He began mapping the feel of Harry's kisses, the low moans Harry sang, the breathless sighs, the way Harry shivered when the tip of his tongue touched the soft velvet of Harry's lower lip. When he finally pulled away, Harry's eyes were glassy, his mouth the colour of raspberries.

"Please, Sev," whispered Harry, as his hands came up to tangle together at the nape of Snape's neck. "Please. You said not 'til I wanted to, and I do, so much." He pulled Snape's head down for another kiss, their bodies touching from thigh to chest.

Snape wrapped his arms around Harry's slender form, one hand at the small of his back, the other sliding into the messy black thicket of Harry's hair. Slow and lingering became hot and demanding, Snape's tongue plunging deep into Harry's mouth, taking ownership of it, of him. He felt Harry's erection hard and thick against his hip and pulled him closer.

"Bed. Now," Harry murmured against Snape's lips and took a couple of steps toward their room when Snape tugged hard on his hand and pulled him back.

"No," said Snape, his voice strained. Regret filled his eyes, the faint lines of his face more prominent than usual. "Harry…"

Harry turned back, bewildered. His face was pinched, his expression drawn. "But, you said…don't you want me?" He took a step back, eyes widening, the wheels in his mind turning so fast there was a chance his entire head would start spinning.

Seeing where Harry's thoughts were taking him, Snape moved swiftly and folded Harry into a warm embrace. "No. Don't think that. Don't ever allow that thought to enter your mind," he murmured. He cupped Harry's face and stared into pain-filled green eyes. "I have never lied to you. Nor did I lie to Arthur. Why would I?"

"Why then?" pleaded Harry. "I don't understand."

Snape kissed Harry lightly on the forehead, then softly on the lips. "I am pleased that you are beginning to accept yourself as you are. I am very proud of how well you did today, though admittedly, I have no right to be. But tell me the truth, Harry; are you ready to be acknowledged as my lover? Are you willing to walk into the Burrow and let us be seen as a couple?"

Swallowing heavily, Harry's cheeks infused with colour and he lowered his eyes. He shook his head slightly. "I-I don't think I can do that. I mean, I know they say they just want to see me, but I don't think I'm ready to let them see me be gay." The last bit was hushed.

"And that's all right," said Snape quietly. "We have time, Harry, all the time you need." He lowered his hand and cupped Harry's cock, not as hard as it was, but nowhere near flaccid. He hummed softly as Harry rocked up into his hand. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," replied Harry a bit breathlessly. "But don't tease me like this. It's been forever."

Kissing along the underside of Harry's jaw, Snape consumed Harry's whimpers and moans as though they were made of dark chocolate. "How long is forever?" he murmured as he licked a patch of skin on Harry's neck before nipping lightly at it.

"Err," Harry stammered as his hands came up to cling to Snape's shoulders. "Umm, February, when we had that cold snap. I was going mad from being lonely, and we kept each other from freezing."

"Come with me." Snape took Harry by the hand and led him the rest of the way into their room. "Remain where you are." Closing the door, he lit some candles and toed off his shoes, setting them inside the closet. A wave of his hand dimmed the lights.

Once satisfied, he began undressing Harry, dropping to one knee to remove his shoes and socks. He rose to his feet, smiling as Harry's breath caught, slipped off Harry's glasses and slowly removed the warm pullover he'd been wearing all day. He held it to his nose and inhaled, watching Harry's eyes darken at the sight. Nimble fingers moved over Harry's belt and worked the zipper of his trousers down. He slid them down over too-thin legs, nosing at the hard bulge in Harry's pants.

Gathering up Harry's things, Snape folded them neatly and set them aside. He opened a drawer, then set a bottle filled with clear fluid on Harry's nightstand and walked away. Pulling a chair into a corner not far from the foot of the bed, he sat down, shadow hiding much of his face. "Turn down the bed and remove your pants."

Harry pulled the duvet off the bed, clutching the corner to his chest as he peered into the corner. "Sev?"

"It's all right, Harry, but if you wish to stop, simply say so."

Dropping the duvet, Harry shook his head as he pushed down his pants. "No," he replied in a low voice. "This is good." His cock sprang free, and he stroked it automatically, a light blush painting his cheeks.

"On the bed, please." Snape's voice purred out in a smooth ribbon of dark velvet that slid over Harry's flesh like whispered promises. "Lie back against the pillows. There is lubricant on your table."

"Oh, god," moaned Harry. "You want to... _really_?" His cock gave a little jump as he climbed up on the bed, fluid already welling at the head emerging from his foreskin. He arranged himself artlessly, setting the bottle near at hand as he lay back against the mound of pillows, one leg bent with the sole of his foot flat on the mattress.

Snape watched with growing interest as Harry sprawled across the bed, legs splayed wide open as if inviting him to take a closer look. "Eyes on me, Harry," he said into the quiet, refusing to allow Harry to pretend he wasn't there. "And touch yourself."

"Sev…." Harry's voice shook, but he took his prick in hand. His fingers curved uncertainly around it, as though he'd never brought himself pleasure before. He stroked lightly, giving a little gasp as his palm rubbed over the head of his cock.

"Do you ever imagine us together? Touching? Sucking? Fucking?" asked Snape, his cock stiffening as he saw the effect his voice had on the man laid out before him. "Tell me what you see." His fingers drifted over his chest, toying at a hard nipple under his shirt.

Harry's fingers tightened on his prick and he gave a sharp tug upward. "You want me to…oh, god," said Harry. "Yes, alright? We, umm, shag." He opened the bottle and poured some of the slick substance into his hand, not waiting for it to warm up before gripping his cock again, his movements no more certain than before.

"How are we shagging? Are we face to face? Nestled together like spoons? Tell me, Harry." Snape's mellifluous voice spilled from his lips like heady wine. His long fingers ruched his shirt up, and he moaned as he touched bare flesh.

Hand stuttering over the column of hard flesh, Harry blinked and licked his lips. "I'm, uhh, kneeling on the bed, my face buried in a pillow." He closed his eyes as if trying to escape the scene playing in his head, but snapped them open again at Snape's command.

"You would prefer to hide your face from me?" came the voice from the corner. "Play with your nipples."

"My…what?" Still, Harry did as directed, his left hand travelling lightly over his chest, fingernails scraping lightly over one tiny nub. He gasped, his spine arching slightly, then pinched lightly as his right hand began to move faster and faster over his prick. "Ohh."

With one hand, Snape opened his belt and pulled, the leather whispering through the loops as he removed it, and Harry moaned as the buckle clattered against the floor. "You've not answered my question," he said as he watched with keen interest as Harry's hand drifted across his chest.

"Don't…know…any other…position," gasped Harry as he closed his fingers firmly over his right nipple, rolling it between finger and thumb, his hips coming up as he fucked the tunnel of his hand. Gooseflesh was pebbling his flesh and his legs fell open as he drew his feet up. His breath came in sharp bursts, his wordless cries a sonata of pleasure.

"Is that what you want, Harry? To feel my cock invade your beautiful arse? To be filled with my prick? To have your prostate pounded over and over and over as I fuck you hard? Is that what you like best? To be taken? To feel claimed? Owned? To belong to someone? Open your eyes." Snape reached into his trousers and pulled out his cock, spreading his legs wide as he leaned back in his chair.

Harry could no more open his eyes than fly without a broom. His hips came off the bed and he pulled hard on his nipple as his hand squeezed his cock. Clear fluid rained into the valley between hip and thigh, meandering through the forest of hair between his legs. "Yes, all of it… _please!"_ he cried out desperately as the heat continued to pool in his belly.

Snape continued to torment Harry with his words. "Slide your fingers inside. Imagine it's me." His hand travelled over his prick, as long as Harry’s, but thicker, heavier, a dark sword waiting to be sheathed within the warm, welcoming flesh of Harry's body.

"Inside?" Harry gasped, then, "Oh, god. Severus!" His hips moved frantically, stumbling out of the rhythm set by his hand. Seconds later, his voice rang off the ceiling as wave after wave of pearly fluid pumped onto his belly and chest. His cock continued to spurt as he choked out a sob, near tears from the force of his orgasm.

A soft grunt from the corner was the only sign that Snape had followed Harry into pleasure and for a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing. Eventually, Snape cleaned himself with a nearby flannel, then rose to his feet and came to sit on the edge of the bed. He dragged a finger through a pool of the pearlescent liquid that lay on Harry’s belly and licked it off.

"You are beautiful," he murmured as Harry flung his forearm over his eyes, his cheeks burning brilliant red. "Do not be embarrassed by your pleasure. I assure you, I enjoyed it as much as you."

"I've just never, you know, not in front of someone," mumbled Harry. He risked a glance at Snape, and found himself gazing into eyes so warm he could feel the heat of them on his bare skin, the love Snape had hidden for so long shining clearly in their depths. Harry’s eyes filled. There had been no sign of love on the horizon for so long, he'd almost given up on finding it.

Snape smiled and kissed him gently. "Better now?"

"Yeah," said Harry softly, a shy smile breaking over his face. "Yeah. I think I am."

 

-The End-

  



End file.
